between the bones as penance or fertility. I wonder why the three virgins were made to stand in a crypt of pelvises, pose in their holy robes so close to the remains of a man's pride. Notice how the women lean forward, cower in the frailness of their display. Each smile meek and folded inward.
They know loneliness. And I almost wish I could ask for a minute of their time, hear the best parts
of the world they left long ago. But I'm too ashamed and too young. So I whisper half of an appreciation and nod at their bones before moving on to the next memorial.
They know loneliness. And I almost wish I could ask for a minute of their time, hear the best parts
of the world they left long ago. But I'm too ashamed and too young. So I whisper half of an appreciation and nod at their bones before moving on to the next memorial.
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