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  • Writer's pictureSofia Ortiz


There is a place where dreamers go to die.

Poppies bleed out on the grass.

I see your shadow and I shiver.

She writes images in replicas of scribbles from my dreams.

As nectar is slipping from her breast,

I lay here hidden in her slow, warm hug to death.

I am her puppet to the strings.

Two curly-haired earth spirits conjoin at the lips

As their curls coil to the skies.

That was a song from a long time ago.

I knew other forces were at play.

I feel what I’ve sparked

With my appetite for seduction.

“They are searching for a missing man.”

I am the villain of this love story.

How is he still running through my veins?

His body reduced to bone

As I lay here alone.

Lost in lust, his shadow

touches me. I shudder.

Cover me in fire and brimstone.

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