Love / poetry / Poetry / Uncategorized

Day 154 of 35

It was the way he stood, ending
proximity. His arms folded like a woman
clutching her purse in a dark alley.
You could fit a counter between us.
I could be checking his coat or
taking his order at dawn
in a twenty-four hour truck stop.

In the length of an ellipsis, I wrote
a letter in my head. I burned it and kept
the ashes. Sad as memory; proof of heat.

One thought on “Day 154 of 35

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