You left me
walking around, dead,
Breathing art and blood,
to all those frequent collaborators
you keep close,
Blunt force trauma,
Unconscious as a sentence,
Seconds and thirds
in their veins with burning desires,
And I can feel it all;
A knife in the ocean of well-wishers,
Northern lights,
Polarized jury,
Switchblade conversation and persuasion.

You left me
wishing I was, dead,
And still I love your voice,
Imagine your lithe frame
and puzzles of grace gained,
A flame winked out like stolen time,
Your left eye shut tight
and a smile that says "Not tonight."
A finish as sick, beautiful,
as stars once alight in our eyes.

The End

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