your absence

of empathetic substance

forges an abysmal emptiness

for us


to exist in

your hazel irises

forfeited to fate

your abandoned attention,

the fatality of resignation

may we sit and say nothing?

silence is deafening

but infatuation is suffering

your lost gaze

sirens my mind

my hands find your waist

and your arctic skin

frosts my febrile fingers

our empty equilibrium.

a fruitless, riotous romance.



2 thoughts on “~fruitless~

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