They are black heart’s blood on white pure lips;Oscillation of lines formed of your images;Emotion pinned in place by the words you use:Shattered into paper, glass on wood – and blood.Blood ink in the pen of a heart that cannot speak,Bound to another by these words I begged from you.Now held like shallow treasure in my hands.Hide this knot of indecision, in my eyes, my lips.
-Miriam Joy
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