Thursday, November 4, 2010
I hear the gravel spit & clink against the rust.
Your departure postponed longer than usual but still eminent.
Each sweet caress of your hand against my skin is
Only a mirrored motion of the waving of your goodbye
Which will always come, shortly after you catch your breath
And my heart again.
I don’t weep anymore, calling your name, choking
On the cloud of dust you leave behind.
I lay silent and wait for your headlights and love to return.