artefact 897

artefact 897

seas of glass and broken tides
the blood that pumps behind your eyes
the curses spat between your thighs
while you sang such sweet lullabies

torn apart vicissitudes
pain in volume’s magnitude
turkish market Prostitutes
could not complain of such abuse

the fiber of your spinal cord
entangled tight in whip and lace
what held us here or in that place,
let loose to fall,
like ancient leather.
Lost to time,
my broken treasure?

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