Sunday

Light burns deadpan sky, yesterday’s sun evaporates.

Bells sing always for someone; you lie there almost dead
face sculpted from pain, returning : but I have no flowers.

I dream of sea worlds, saliva, messages. Today holds no hostages.

Every moment perfect to itself, we exist in the shadows of memory
along a corridor of recognition.

I am full of you, empty of you. When you leave I return to myself

a stranger .

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One thought on “Sunday

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