The days turned liquid
poisonous metal. They
flowed into the nights
making sharp darts
of pain. In seven days
decades had passed
Old pain was shoveled
and plow ready to plant.
Words of love fell like
bitter rain, burning all
it touched. The beloved
has no more to give,
no way to heal until
the earth is scorched
and done dying
crossings as in traversals, contradictions, counterpoints of the heart though often not..
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