She came a-biting to the biting post
and left the scratches
there
made her mark. Or so it seem upon a whistling afternoon
in filtered sunshine
He left his touch on the one he loved
and despised
because he saw his brokenness reflected
in the grey limpid pools
that greeted him
each time they melded into one
The left together
paving their way to the sunset strip
they left little behind
their forlorn ways
their broken fun
their hopeful tomorrows
like empty melon rinds
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