Thursday, July 27, 2017

every step echoes.


she will not speak of 
clemency, the remnants of 
your intentions have 
clearly cut scars along 
blue veins in her hands

your poems still sneak 
through the stillness, late 
into the evening, pages
of your handwriting beg
for love, or some relief

with your shirt pressed 
damp against her 
back, she will see you 
standing, waiting for 
joy to swallow, or cleanse time


© 7.26.2017 heather brager

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