The dismantled me

The day she sat upon midnight,
The dreaming knights growled in pain
Sometimes
Purring
Like one female crickets,
breathing in the warm shadows.

The moment when they cease to be her name
On the fields of soot
enamored by
Lost shoes and cacti,
The night she broke the day.

I have seen her smirk through the windows
A singer of a thousand nights
With glassy eyes
So
Black
As if a pool of midnight
is violet
but with refrain.

I thought about the entity
My heart sighing,
ready.
It was but Keats’s pale throat
French as it suits the occasion

And Voila
As they say,
I found that someone
who could then devour my muse
Along with the
dismantled
Me

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