Atonement, One Week Late

Last night's dreams tore the red sash of her dressing-gown,
flung away the cloth, left her naked
with all the lies she owns.

You knelt over her then, sweet lips
swirled in a snarl at the scent of this,
the raw constellation of fabrication.

She cried. You gnashed your teeth
and buffeted her body with furious howls.

Just before the alarm clock's chime
she drove over a mile-high bridge,
hoping to never touch down.

photograph by Gabriel Gabler

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