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Brink

by Joanne Marisa Leow
Having tasted the first moment
I find myself wary
of sucking the honey of your
sweet vows.

(What marks of violence
you leave on my soul
A bruise here
A bite there
A gash running down my back...)

I stand here
with a broken flower stem
afraid that this ambrosia
will turn into poison running through my veins.



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