Shapeshifting by Gemma Meek

I lost my voice again; the landscape is huge and dangerous,
but without my words i'm trapped.
And you too have grown cold, like some ancient stone
dead flat against my hand.
Your other woman is not human - she rises in vapours and
devours us bit by bit.
We still lie together each night, but as two lines drawn in sand,
shifting sideways, awash with the tide.

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