12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

When words have expired

The cost will be too much
if I don’t send
that letter
she’ll never realise
i want only
the light to dance
her nights sweet

the cost will be too much
if i send it
again it would be

let’s pretend
those words that did trickle
from mind’s inkwell
dribbled into the page
teach me such
a tight

let’s pretend I’m not looking
down the sight at
two hundred & seventy
letters written between
inquietude and friendship
who nocked only
to salve her sorrow

let’s pretend
later still
closer to now
the target never grew legs
the carpet wasn’t quicksand
sentences don’t string together in such space

let’s pretend I’m the only one
with ink on her fingers

and though the words
with her left in them
have expired

let’s pretend
I already sent that last letter
wishing her every bright and burning thing







Tell me wotcha reckon

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This entry was posted on January 28, 2015 by in Poesia, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , .

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