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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