- Vol. 01
- Chapter 07
Image by Alice Connew
ThreeThe Pyramid Constellation.
Though that one's the North Star,
Guiding me to you.
Let me join the dots with my fingers,
An idle trace from one to the next and the next.
But I daren't touch that:
The smudge of your past.
You never say.
The imprint of the number three,
Farrow & Ball Bruised Red.
Three's a crowd,
Third time lucky,
Three is the magic number.
No magic, no conjuring, no rabbit pulled out of a hat.
Luck turned and so did he.
What was it?
The weather vane spinning 180 degrees,
The East wind drifting over the ocean, tipped with poison,
Blowing a storm of words then violence.
The mark that meant you belonged to him,
Possessed by a man possessed.
You touch it, I've seen you. Is it to remember?
Never return, my dearest heart,
My Constellation of Three.