Bellow’s Widow
By craig2
She only knows, sees the sanctity that haunts her, he who to others is gone to her is omnipresent Sainted in his absence - his spirit and scent lingering, melting in the handkerchief she clutches with gaunt and weightless hands. Through deep absinthe eyes she contemplates a sorrow beyond the morgue of emotion - the intimate stare transfixed under black veil will never move again in prayer or mourning, nor morbid tears. Written January 22nd, 2002 © on Jan 21 2002 04:42 PM PST 0 • 1
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"She only..."