• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 03
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At the Altar

The crowd's breath is powder blue
It waits
It crumples
Falls into sand with each tick

There is a butterfly down
Torn face
Angel face
Her voice is a wrapper floating to earth
It leaks
Fails to contain
The post desertion
Ripping sound

Fingers on mobiles
Tap code into the ocean blank

As she stands there
Her ankles weaken
One straight line points outward
All other directions dissolve

She exits fast
Through the arched doorway
Leaves only a tissue