The ring came off so easily
a worthless sliding thing 
of tin, copper, iron 
not fitted for its
purpose, poor
fool who wore its gold
pyrites both
shackled to temptation's
hollow sworn word
nothing held or borne.
I abhor their
lying silence, the empty gleam
of eyes
the cold form of the thing
from right to 
wrong hand.
I despise your shoulders
your easy grin.
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