Wednesday, 12 June 2019

be like a poem will never be written

how does one describe the exhalation of breath
the incomplete gesture the
tangible space suddenly
apparent?
there is a part of me died with you
a fragment
a trailing cry pulling at my hair
wanting to lash out and
break…
something to see
the color of blood as
a way in
as a way out
to look for you
all this is like a poem that never will be written
to die to find you
to leave this alien place premature
and come home

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