their love was a lead blanket
weighing down their prey
until they could not breathe;

it was an insecurity anchor
threatening to drown beloved
beneath the crushing weight
of ever-present expectation;

like a solid granite olive press
rolling constantly over bodies
in an unconscious effort
to maintain that “extra virgin”
until every drop of affection
had escaped and run away –

but still they clung
to the ghost of an image,
an imago phantasma,
chained inside their skull
and haunting
the attic of their mind,
rattling chains in omen
forever frightening away
the inquisitive…

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