The ringing of her bells stops
with a knife stuck sharply into pink.
Just above the heart. At first glance, she is silk.
So smooth to the touch.
She is calm before this predicted storm,
all the fierce white that will cover our sins.
This curve of hatred.
Coal mines burn under our feet.
We could throw her down the mine shaft.
Red hot coals smolder
& melt her like snow.
Like something
we do not understand.
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