I owe you an apology. 

Alone, I traveled to the seaside
of endless chains of white rosaries, beneath.
They were the cushions between my toes,
as I sat on a fusty bench.
A place where, in the morning,
the water was a firefly jar.

I journeyed to a woman, who
loved me more than you.
So as a deceiving artist, I
drew her with my finger – sculpted her even.
Still, she was only a ghost,
after all.

And then to the edge,
of a rooftop somewhere everywhere.
Where what I saw below,
were your arteries. veins. valves.
Doused in vermilion and something more.

But I am sure,
I had left your heart
in a safe place.


The End

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