Suture

We peel off layers of our soul
like lovers removing clothes:
with increasing disregard for each piece.

We overthrow the night,
lead a vendetta against moonshine;
what have small hours ever done for us.

We eye each other’s vanishing smiles
like rivers forcing their way through rocks:
with reluctance for a world that must be.

We live in imperfect recollections,
forge imprints of a love without end;
what have happy endings ever done for us.

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