Fiction

by Steven J. Serafiani

her husky eyes weighed down the world.
and while you sanded your boat,
she made lunch between clothes-peg ghosts as
freshwater tumbled in.
see, she and her seashells that dangled delicate around her throat,
weren’t meant to spend days strung pretending to love you.
in fact, matter of fact, she was fiction,
unless she slept but even then,
her chest rose and fell with absolution.
young man, only 852 miles,
blow.

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