The Bridal Veil

I've hung my wedding dress
on a hook of white memories,
my gaze like silk on his shoulders.
I've torn my heart from his chest 
which still smells of my milk.
He'd wake,
his fingers pulsing on my neck,
the same old clamour of lust in his arms.
I've torn my heart away
but my eyes are filled with him,
his back, broad and resplendent
in a bridegroom's shawl.
I won't remind myself
that, with the next breath,
he'll take off her veil.
I won't count
his breaths.

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