Convergence: Except I Loved Her Once, 4

(London:  Sunday, just before dawn, September 30, 1888)

 

The aftermath is what I mostly dread,

far more than any comments that are said

 

about, or to, me.  From our warm, large bed

she leaves, with a last kiss.  Why she is led

 

back to Whitechapel and that soul-less bastard

by whom she is abused---exploited---mastered---

 

I do not know.  Soon, dawn will be adorning

these early hours as I begin my mourning.

 

Starward

 

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