Thursday, July 13, 2017



He gave me
a handmade box

with floral motifs
and four voodoo pins

inside, four tiny children
nailed to my body.

He said: I'm yours
even if required to prick

the bolt between my legs
and that viscera, the heart.

Pessimistic butterflies flew.
I heard their flapping, and

in the shadows. The snap
of a non-existent tongue.

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