stars from her eyes. vi. she is your muse. sink your teeth into her lower lip when she dares to lead you astray. choking on asphodels wilting in her larynx, she drowns you in the lethe at dawn—and like eurydice, after you have bled her dry, call her beloved. turn to stare her in her stolen sight. when you wake, you know only two things: starlight rots beneath the sun, and nectar lingers on your fingertips.
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