There’s something beautiful in a tear,
the salty water formed into  a perfect sphere-
that smoulders with all the light that it takes from the room
to burn crystal tracks down your skin, ’til you glow
iridescent, sadness marked in every contour of your face.
It’s almost miraculous how the simpleness of that tear
can transform you and paint the nectar of the gods,
weaving it into your being. And how the once salty taste
of ones own woe can become ambrosia on the tongue
that places you on a marble throne among the immortal,
so you weep to feel more alive than you’ve ever felt.
Because when you weep you are above mortal suffering,
you are free of the confines of the human soul,
and emotion is none, because in heaven love is plentiful
and love is free.
So you watch that small miracle fall from your face,
and roll sweet nectar down your arm, to settle in the dark angry flesh
of your marred wrist- to seal your holy demise.


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