Friday, April 20, 2018

Ex-isting

She was poetry
The feel of her words riding the stanzas
Blessing me with depth 
Before I could travel her circumference 
I’ve been listening more
With my eyes, ears, and heart
Distinguishing and confirming that which has no substance 

I never text her when she’s with with her 
Never winning in the game of “you’ll get over her” 

For the sake of stability
I froze temptations agility
To maneuver it’s dusting
From covering my vision
Imprisonment wasn’t always literal
As faith is to religion V.S. spiritual 
I was a time bomb packed as a grenade
All run out of patience with extended winter days 
I once promised deliverance to self

Remixing the action
Passing up on all interjections
Never forgetting
The feel of her palm for my calming.

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