Her candied irises draw in sharp breaths
Across a thousand years.
Her name plays with the heartstrings of the wind
And drags in summer storms
To cool hot blood.

“This time,” she said,
Wrapped in my arms and the white cotton sheets,
“We won’t be caught off guard.”

She paused.
The afternoon light crept through the drawn curtains.
“This time...
We’ll cut our own throats.”