The Hell She Hath Created
She was an enchantress with a halo of moonbeams,
A heartbeat that measured distance in light years
As she projected images of autumnal affairs
Into my otherwise empty head where visions
Of perfect nuance, of her, on the cusp of
Womanhood, still clinging to her girlish features, in front
Of her spectators, eagerly awaiting for
Her fumbling. But I watched the blues of the
Dreariest November leech the colors from her face and
Left me scrambling for meaning in her absence.
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