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TUNDRA
My constant desire, my inconstant love,
the tulle whispered your nonsense,
which echoed with every step of my winter boots.
I didn't know if I would leave you,
or if you would refuse to follow,
if I would rescue you,
or read you the last rites.
I kissed your iced-lips and froze my shadow in the snow.
The gravediggers swore, through the vodka,
the ground was deep and sorry enough
to hold even you.
Now Hell's walls boast
poems that kill, the cold, bitter
flowers I wore so well.
Hearts of tundra,
hearts of air—
we bent the laws of love like iron.
Price: Contact Artist
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