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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Arts · #2219047
April 14 Entry. GloPoWriMo 2020
Verdant daffodils disrupted the grey
of the spire's cold, monochrome balcony.
Winter struck with the flapping of owl wings,
and with it, life in the tower wilted.

Eons before, she and I married young,
and our love contaminated those walls.
Soon, our tender plague dispersed to others;
we swooned as their hungry hearts imploded.

She never was, and I had never lived,
though reality couldn't dampen us,
nor will our bodies decompose either;
painted flowers, painted vase, no canvas.
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