Love in Articulo Mortis

I may have posted this poem before, but I don’t feel like searching the blog for it.

Love in Articulo Mortis

Regrets packed in tearsalt,
I hand them to the porter.
I’ve been here before,
love in articulo mortis.

I board the train on a night
darker than I’ve ever seen,
cloudless, the moon judging
me with borrowed light.

The signal blows and I’m
tossed into haunted sleep.
When I wake, I look out
on a ruined landscape.

Without a word, the porter
hands me my things and nods.
I step out onto the platform,
a stranger in a dangerous town.

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