Her tongue dances

at the familiar taste of poison

but she can no longer

differentiate between

boundary and fortress.

But, this could have been right

this Knight and his chords

that gambled and dared

that his hands should graze

and rest on her flesh.

But alas, only a confession

words written and stripped

long burned and drifted

Now simple reflection

timing, misaligned and misspent.

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