Sunday, January 3, 2010


I will not wait for ours to turn sour, for it will not
Long after wine fails its magic in our systems
And laughter leaves mouths without a sound

Like the bright amber of evenings giving into dark
Conversion, further turning hollow gatherings
Into ruin. They all will go, with us in the thick of it

Gone, but not quite. We will go through hours
Meeting and leaving numerous strangers.
We’ve named those who’ve grown fond
Of hearing useless secrets. I will delight, instead,

In the pockets of silence in-between:
Reaching your hand and locking them
Into mine, a furtive turn to feel
Your stare; gazing eyes that take me

Back to that place, that night
Where I know. Where you know
Our lives truly happen.

For W

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