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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