What Then?
lovers, born on day
of pied repentance,
never knew if chance
forsook their fate or
fancy mused her way
into the mix
where once betwixt
prevenient fury, ages
passed with notches on
the rind, no ground or
gritted teeth could
masticate a mend
it had to end, if
not by choice
then sure by chance
loose ends abounded
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