These Are Not Empty Chambers

your dark is explosive
abundant in red
it crashes and
rattles windows
in their frames
on a tide of excess
it leave holes where
doorhandles used to be

my dark is half frozen
in silence and solitude
born of determination
and vicious
a poison of whispers
it resonates in dry
unforgivable echoes

these are not empty
chambers where your
dark meets my dark
like strangers who pass
on the street with
a sense that in a
past life they might
have been lovers

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