Inhibited Afternoon

She had short fingernails.
Too short to be stained black

by stagnating berry juice.
The fruit were at soul depth,

as ancient as her eyes,
where life was an eternity,

a discourse of unions -
encircled friendships. Amongst fallen

houses, corrugated shutters,
were the pathless gardens.

We harvested twelve months
together: wandered through lost

pleasures that our stained
or stainless hands concealed.




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