IV

IV

I thought I found loving you long ago

But tonight wary I crawl

To your bed

My bed

With a wine-stained mouth and shaking hands

 

The sounds of creaking door hinges

Hang in the still blue air

And the dunes of your

Shoulder blades call to me

 

Your sleep soaked voice murmurs my name

As I trace the moonlit ridge

Of your spine

Moving mountains of blankets

To reach obscured skin

 

Tonight I learned loving you is knowing

You’re leaving me

But clinging to your

Almost absence

With broken fingers and a dry mouth

 

Seattle, 2017

 

(Photo by Eric Toennis)

Waste Books - "White Noise" by Don DeLillo

Waste Books - "White Noise" by Don DeLillo

Mourning Walks

Mourning Walks

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