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Your Majesty of Tears
The spirit of the mirror
feeds these years in blood
it dries quickly,
marking the place
where blue skies wither
& brittle corn sighs dust
In search of your rose
I worry ghosts
drawn like a bee
past bludgeon of murdering clock
wing torn weary
& beating a fool's tune
the shock of bitter tongue
blind to thorns of the heart
Your reflection
was always a dream
from a place I dared not look
the cruelest truth
ruling love imperfect--
your majesty of tears
But once
away on the mountain
gnawing earth alone with the crows
there for a moment
I was certain
although we never got to dance
I almost glimpsed
a perfect smile in your soul
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