The Hunt
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blood between my fingers
the eyes of the prey, closing in death
the sisters moons taking the colors

Night painting dim colors on sharp canvas
teeth latching on the fur
my bedding like a stone
the pelt changing into marble

I remember too many
I remember too much
the blood-stained memory
digging holes in my midst

I was the victor of the morning
the dusk claimed me as a prey

//   Article written by skekMal  //