The Dunstable Dead

dunstable

 

in an english field

a ring of stones

surrounds

two young bodies

blue skies, crows fly

low to the burnt

ground

fires burning

on horizons dangerous

trees sigh, nature cries

an endless scream

as she bites

his

chest

fingers digging, lips twitching

white teeth

sharp

drawing blood

upon the steps that

rise

watchful eyes, gazing

with hunger

at melting flesh

the ritual act of

lovers

divided, mirrored

like the two halves of a

heart

merging, becoming

one

in the barren, damned lands

where nothing

ever

escapes

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