Accept that she
is a syringe
and that you
have a very
serious addiction.
Embers dancing
all around us –
the firestorm
will keep us warm
and we need this now;
no sun
in this cracked
marble sky.
An inevitable cold wind
rising to meet my fingertips
before they whisper
to you;
be it Death
or shadow
I could not tell.
You’re wearing off
and the needle
of your arms is distant
but optical illusions
on the far end of August
and we’ll make
the most of it
until then.
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