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Love Fevers

                                    Tara Mae Mulroy

The man you love ties his lovelorn ex to the back
of your wedding carriage, slaps the horses.

He says, She wouldn’t let me go. She was just
a girl. Her hair snarls the spokes, her pink skin

unskeins. The moon will call her ghost. Her gray eyes raking
your skin while he burrows into you. These things

happen. Love him harder. Dive into the river again
and again to drown his pains and nearly yourself.

Strip the nightjar of its feathers while it beats
your palms. Lip the coins he gives you to taste

what hands he’s touched. Dream of the girl
who, when you untied her you realized, died

smiling. Her longing, too, a madness.

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