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Dec 2024
He gorges on my mistakes, a swollen moon,

pale and taut with the salt of my guilt.

Each night, he leans close, his breath like frost,

presses a kiss to my brow, cold as bone,

and whispers forgiveness I cannot believe.
Nemusa
Written by
Nemusa  F/Purgatorju
(F/Purgatorju)   
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