Atropos

Thornéd crown, ensnared in a quiet hour, she’s
fair, but tainted. Breath trickles dull from fine lips
rested neatly over him, silken honey,
false on his marred skin -
darkness binds them. Spooling his fraying string, her
wilted stems cut swiftly, he weakens, frail: a
heaving muted heart in ribs; caged. She whispers,
breakable nothings.
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