milk and stardust

Her face, moon-edged, sharp
As tongues that lovers use
To sever threads, heartstrings
Dangling helpless low
Above a smiling clavicle
Little teeth, lip-ripping
Cannibalising herself  (
   Wanton, unwanted
) Into something clean and smooth
A crescent sliver
Diluted in the milk of stars, feeding,
Infantile. Born-again
Virgin queen
She knows nothing of reds, rouge,
Kate Moss lipstick
Shades, backs of buses
Blushing full of
Spit, shining
In her heaven.
Remade maidenhood,
The vase of her thighs holds now
A lone white rose
Snow-dry and milk-bottled.
She sees in blood cells,
You have no heart.

The End

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