My heart is a horse behind the gates
just begging to run free with
the spirits of love that surround
every Romeo and Juliet.
I guess it can be promising
to think that this melancholy
will pass and that you will
materialize, but can I wait for it?
I’m a child on the porch who’s
feet gently drag across the wood
as I sit alone on the swing watching
the others who get to play.
When I retire at day’s end I feel
a frost creeping over my fingers
and I can’t feel any surfaces as
I drift into a solitary slumber.
When I wake the tape is rewound
and my motions are all too familiar,
so until this is real I’ll be stroking
a smooth empty pillow.
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