BLOOD TRACKS

Think of faded traces of blood in the woods

turned into dust

in a final kiss of grey

*

Two footprints under the grass

Two dead at this place again

*

Our eyes still remain

crowned over perfection

for we kissed the lack of death

and put stone on thistle

*

Awaken,

seen in wounds

Heal,

we heal

STONE ON THISTLE

STONE ON THISTLE

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