Sunday, August 23, 2009

It was the last time
I heard your voice.
The pitchy frustration,
A cliff's edge
A crash of satly tear-waves below.
A year I waited
And you slid into my bed
With enough ease to
Make me wonder. After
Months, I ran out of poems
That I hadn't already read to you.
You grew bored, rushed off
To a walkaway.
It was the last time.

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