She spoke of her broken halo as if there were saints here.
I’ve always known if she didn’t share her darkness, we’d
never see the light.
Broken halos attract, hold hands in hell and talk of
coming and going back.
I want to feel all her words on the tip
of my tongue. Honey for my dry lips.
Pens between her rose hips.
Just today she launched her share of ships.
I stay near and watch her show
And watch as others watch her show.
And watch as others watch her show.
I’d talk of quantum entanglement and other dimensions, extensions
but I can’t tell if she’s still listening.
but I can’t tell if she’s still listening.
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