There is no separating
contention
the ache of color
and how it hurts
to exhale.
Divesting
ourselves of days
past and present
fall away in shimmering silver
reflections.
We gather agonies
something surreal to wail about
while the tear
caught upon your eyelashes
trembles patiently.
There is never ready
only the right moment
upended upon the table to scatter
in unruly disruptions.
Diving heedless into your weeping
I swim the teardrop
and hope you give me
a reason to breathe.
4 comments:
beautiful build up to a perfect ending. nicely done.
thankyou kindly, just stretching the poetic muscles, I figure if I flex them occasionally, they will continue to work lol
absolutely. it's good to practice a little now and then
The third and ending stanzas leave me breathless....beautiful poem Chris.
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