We find peace in cemeteries,
severe paths leading to
shaded plots of land
under hazy streetlight –
take my hand,
tell me you love me,
make me feel it, damnit,
because you look cold and
dead, like the ones buried below,
worms crawling from
your sunken eye-sockets,
my beautiful, dead bride
marked with my name.
(Photo by Rade Šaptović on Unsplash)
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