Lovers on the Black Market

Beautiful as you were brutal, like sunrise warming feudal faces; rolling down the face of dark,

tears meant to be
wiped away are
forced to end
in stasis.

And your kiss is tasteless, all talking lips and clicking tongues.

Love has no basis outside proximity, but I swallowed it like drugs at black market prices.

On the precipice of crisis, you are cordially invited to re-invent your villainy, pick up the pieces and sell them as the

scenery of starting anew, panoramic proof there’s still horizons waiting for you,

lights of a distant city all your
wilderness can adapt to.

Her eyes might’ve been
ocean blue but I can’t
recall them now for
the life of me,
and rare sightings don’t describe the gaze.

Her smile might’ve hidden
a fractured state but the joy was
feral, a careful optimism behind the haste to exagerate its perils.

Now I’m staring down the barrel of
life without that validation, and the bullet’s more patient with my thick skin.

It ain’t so
terrible, only
smiling for yourself.


3 thoughts on “Lovers on the Black Market

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