i never thought
that light was anything more than a refraction,
the beam from the stars
a wet nightmare
the shreds of cloud
across the moon
a strange dream
a familiar vision of
bleeding things...
fingertips, gums,
the place between the legs
all sticky with it.
it is not beauty that makes me
love her
nor is it darkness--it is
the simple fact of it:
my love is a briar rose.
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