her depth is concerned with moments dimly lit.
sadness edges seductive, her fringes crimson and veins fixed; this brand of stagnancy comes of love only. her movements stilted, sharp, rather like a film in stop-motion.
she bursts forward, shudders back, the ballerina on pins, a Monarch firmly pressed but fluttering.
the wrist dissected. there are surges here, where the bloodline lies, reeling in forced cycle (though this barrier, most penetrable).
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