Words leave the tip of my tongue
And touch her cheek
Painting pictures on her face
That she breaks into shards
To construct images of us
On treated canvas sheets
Spread upon a bed of Heaven
Scented with the breath of Hell
Fetched from deep within the
Fusion we have used there
Where our elements spread apart
And came together settled
In the sheaths that only our words
And images could have created
Mated in a single mass of flesh
Stretched and bound and captured
In a covering of walls until
We rise and start another page.
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