And So The Happy Woman Dies…

In love with Death,
she smiles every morning,
chores feel like flowers
of the wreath, so loved
by the lover; so frightening,
to the world, but for her,
he was handsome and caressing.

A prince of the dark, this lover
has no qualms, goes from one
to the other, of any age, gender
or religion; never returning,
consummating fully; leaving
nothing for late, while she waits
loving the shadow, and
he keeps running.

After years they finally meet,
the prince said he had found
other retreats; she felt thousand needles,
gorging, stabbing, twisting; then
came the pain, with the lull and calm,
of lovers finding infinity
in the others’ arms.

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