Ritual

I miss you
ritually,
habitually.
Music plays,
some dark song
with deep riffs
that I imagine boiling
from your fingers,
and the room shudders
like earthquakes,
and my heart beats
to metal
and blood
and pieces
fall to the floor
in ashen piles,
echoing through
the black
as I feel your fingers
gliding across
this facade
I call skin,
and I wonder
how we ever
got so lost.

~Patience

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