Untitled by Charlie Keys Bohem

She was with me in a very deep pool of rust-colored water. Among soundless concrete cubes, climbing each other like jungle vines, in a deep pool of rust-colored water. Clear, then dark, but never cloudy.
Below smoke stacks that lost their tops in the gray clouds, singing like grinding metal, spitting out sparks to die in rubble patches. By brown broken grass climbing out of dirt cracks.
A tube beat sounds like snapping cable doubling far away, rattling dust from old doorframes.
Hand in hand, shivering, wading into runoff, into the cleanest thing for ashy miles — 
She was with me when the ripples we made pulled apart the water’s delicate sky, into a pit of weak coffee and black of unknown depth.

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