Tuesday, July 17, 2012

sonnet one hundred ninety six

and we crush against waves
and thoughts and helplessness,
these hands ache to follow
the trail of words uttered by

this poet, wringing the
pain from midnights when
i held you, when i touched
your face,when i allowed

myself to be mesmerized,
now all so distant, now all
gone, now all that were

just seemed, like an apparition,
like a remembrance, like
the cold whisper of air at dawn.

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