Weapon of choice
She stands in the half-light of his closet
pink gash streaked across her board
she doesn't walk forward
neither does he
but he moves
By the time his eyes adjust to the dark
the light has already come
and it takes another daylight yet
before he sees again
She's long gone by night-break
but her presence is not forgot
she left her clothes upon his floor
and her bite marks on his wall
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