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out in the world
there’s nothing to do except for maybe
absent-mindedly trace a heart on her kneecap
with my fingers
while taking in the remaining vestiges
of the summer’s warm kiss with a cup of coffee
and the radio playing just slightly not loud
enough to drown out the ringing in my ears
and the constant fears and night terrors
of all this progress falling apart.

and while our hearts are there, our
conversation lies elsewhere, leaving only static and
white noise to fill out the colours in
the void between
fully bloomed trees and the great expanse of mountains
and city lights as they clash together
in a surreal display
of the closest mirage of tranquility
i have ever known.
so when we open our mouths briefly
before closing them and looking away
we see a brief flicker in each other’s eyes
before running even further in opposite directions.

and so i take the words i meant to say
and forge a collection of them haphazardly
to represent a misshapen view of how
my heart resides in more than a deck of cards
or too many cigarettes
while standing on a porch
that overlooks the crescent of eternity.
i take these words and
fasten them together to the tune of
an unnecessary rum-soaked apology
and maybe when the songs cease playing
i could speak a word or two
about how beautiful you looked
as the sun rose over the background hillside
and as the lake
swallowed me whole.

– r.f.g.


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