peccadillo

Upon a night of desire and longing
from a distance,
a silent song of subtlety, of anticipation,
wolves and other wild beasts vent their loneliness.

she is
violet shadows
projected by her lovers absence
and the bone-white curl
of a hand left gripping the dawn

He is
hungry for something
he cannot name with words
and searches every crevice
conquering expired conventions,
the red on his knuckles reminds
of the blood flush in her waiting lips

Faint lines cross her body
to mark the places
where the past grew turbulent,
a paradoxical contradiction lays in
a beacon of hope set deep
shining brighter than
the most formidable of super nova
threatening to engulf the abyss
and create new

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