hollow and unstitched

That last slow kiss
rises,
tangled.
the urgency –
like a needle in the vein.
her eyes
like sapphire silken ribbons
hide
black onyx trappings
(hidden from him);
this moment –
the broken glow of it
like a sun setting
behind the clouds.
her hands like
grains of sand
exploring his neck,
his face –
glorious and yet untouchable.

she pulls back,
her voice like flames:
“Don’t you know that
the first crocus grows
in the frozen snow,
where the fireflies soon haunt
under the indian summer moon?”
alas, her mouth was
not for speech
but for kissing his
swollen lips.
they knew
this was the end;
it was time for their
Siamese hearts to be
surgically parted
(how painful is is
to lose half of yourself
while the half that lingers
remains hollow and unstitched).

but to the blinded millions
it was just another night
and everything for them
stayed in place
like interwoven fibers.

– Jill

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