Thinking of Not Having You

Wrists that bleed with images
that align puzzle pieces
embedded with shards of broken dreams.
What’s come to be in the light refuses
to reflect what your eyes filter through a thunderstorm.
My intuition has risen above the ashes, shifting
in the wind of a cross rifle tattoo rinsed in crimson, edited
for the rules we wrote — we follow none.

(© 2022 AC)

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