Her leaving was her redemption,
a plague was left in her vacancy,
formlessness once spawn from whole cloth
now in full-fledged maelstrom
revulsion and revolution
& before I again greeted
being lost and black roses
springing in spring,
certain ecstasy mapped alone
a voyager falling back on arrogance,
when ages passed with glances
coiling into strands and pitfalls,
terror and blackness
in a cyclic asylum
-the ghost of a beautiful stare,
staring unbroken,
uninterrupted,
and I reciprocate,
knowing all flames allowed
between us will consume me
in immolation
Dontrell Lovet't
from, [The Failed Writer]
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