The Death of Her
She runs and withers
Confound it all!
Across she rests
What glaze crosses her eye
How she steals my lips!
The very words behind my throat!
Her envious appearance glances on my shoulder
My logic makes a mockery of me
As thick as thieves my song to she
More decorum post mortem than the living age
A posthumous vision
Beside my tongue
Behind my ears
Copyright © Eden Apelle | Year Posted 2023
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