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Lobsters
Riding atop a mighty steed,
lead by the dogs of war.
Cupid's target, in her sight,
lying lifeless on the shore.
Distraught, she scrambles towards him.
Last words cutting like a knife.
"This body dies. But not my love.
You're my lobster in every life."
That sounds like a very
That sounds like a very trippy image. Certainly unique. And I would say that your poetry extends creatively beyond it. What a story, what a curse, within the poem.