An army of women lives on the lusts of men.
Like denuded fruit trees
they stand tall in their bare leafless salutes.
They are nothing but discarded soldiers with names
sired by desire.
The sun has risen and it's glory is absurd.
One by one, the turmoils die.
When together, we are apart.
And there is a ripping sound when we come undone.
There are people without shadows.
And I had to borrow someone else's.
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