dorothea, painting a mirror

in golden sunlit rooms knowing
how the end would come but
laughing still

in october

in silence

edge of the world and the
windows open and
once you have gods you have
gods making excuses

once in you start to believe
in happy endings
you're fucked

twenty four years old and in love with
a man who's been dead for twenty three

laughs, says he would've been the one
and closes her eyes while
her newborn son cries in another room

has no use for the truth and
i have nothing else to give her and
so we agree to starve

we walk across the desert
in opposite directions

no one wins, but
the pain we cause each other
is almost enough to
make us smile