Like Herpes On The Heart Of Errol Flynn

By Luke J. Holt

still staving throngs of your remnants
like Errol Flynn skirmishing with armies your perished love yields
that dry out and reemerge
without dying
likewise as upon graves where red bulbs grow to mark a love’s undying space,
ribbons of threadbare affection lay strewn like bloodied head-dresses
herpes that blister beside where the blood is beaten
reminding me she will never return as they do

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