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Artemisia Mourns Her Husband
P
o
e
m
s

Tattered curtains

drawn her eyes shift

down to plum robes

 

one shoulder is

exposed—lips red

ready to take

him in. Ashes with

a bit of wine,

 

he meets her lips

 

she takes him in—

joined again.

 

Spoon by spoon he

left too soon she

is consumed with

consuming him.

 

Her spoon hits the

bottom, and grief

makes her heart stop.