Stuck

It lulls and lingers

in the yellow

mellow caress of fingers

intertwined

in the extended passing

of a once sublime

reflection of love.

A marionette leeched of ardor,

a mannequin pilfered of fervor.

How, then,

does a desiccated heart

become sanguine again?

Unlatch please.

Cut my strings,

set me free.

Let me learn

how to be me.

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