his heat once broke through
October chill, but not now
her unexplored body like a
unraised objection withers
in the silence, the dead
rise from their beds as funeral vines
winding over stones, through cotton
no more utility
in their dry tongues
they will not touch
their domestic steps
move apart, she cannot
hold the lord of exits and is left
where she was felled, dainty as
a white-bellied petal underfoot
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