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The Weaver-Girl
maybe it’s your snow-white glint
of flashing skin
or maybe it’s just
your icy glare
Frankenstein’s monster,
you’re beautiful-
each sown sinew
and straggly vein
arranged like petals of a flower
gliding seamlessly across the
milky smooth skin;
and maybe it’s the way
you glow under the moonlight,
beautiful (monster)
who jumped ship
much too early;
not so much an apparition
but an unstable entity;
a small candlewick flame
hovering over the chasm.
They say it’s better
to give
than receive,
so He gave you
Carbon Monoxide and a hose;
and now you stand before me
at the foot of my bed,
placing kisses on my cheek
like lilies on frozen lakes.
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