Magic Isn’t Real

There are five points connecting
me to you, all the loose beams
of green, the intersection is where

spirits still have to be a good idea—
or a bad seed. It will be a little while
until the orb you took takes you, shapes

you into something angry or shiny.
People don’t change when you want them to
Under the white moon it doesn’t feel

as cold anymore. It doesn’t feel like
the night you took my hands, your glass
eyes lava crystallization, it’s time

to say… We’ve been flashing pretexts
for numerous shadow cycles now:
all the reasons we shouldn’t, all the pain

we can’t… But there was a chance,
ruptured synapse in the silence. There
was the wind so hollow in her call

that it shakes us to our cores, soft petals
scattered on the floor, soft crushing
underneath your feet, just like me.


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