The dissapearance of miss love

Smoking the cigarette. The quintessential toxic. Destruction ephemera. Crush the butt into plastic box (or toss it out the window.) 

Burning litter. The screaming of kittens.

Shake and shiver. Black ink on the fingers, leafing through the Holy Book. Eyes following the finger on every line, looking for the correct name. Nailing it. 
Roll that sound on the tongue. Vibrate her name, the nameless one. Catch a glimpse of her moving in the dark corner. Chasing her. Calling out. Stop. Please. Turn to me. 

She vanishes. 

Posted via email from AFTERVOLTER PRESS

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