we catch hearts in these butterfly netsMature

We catch hearts in these butterfly nets
and put them under glass, our fingerprints
already smudged around the edges.  
Clever murderers we are not, only desperate
and feverish like freshly departed ghosts or 
lovers spinning wildly into madness over loss.
We leave tally marks behind of all the things
we’ve burned down in the name of healing but
it is not enough of a purge for it to truly leave us.

The End

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