Insecticide #8

Absence rends the soul,
your absence.

And in a time when breath and heartbeat
won’t collide,
I will consummate
my love
in text.

Varying referendums exchange colloquial glances;

And I am not free,
but I pray,
not for this
love between us,

For the execution
of a sober mind
and a pure heart.

When all the king’s horses,
and all the king’s men,
heed the crying,
indeed, the dying,
of a woman
who is past
her prime.

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