Last Call
Somewhere there’s a dance floor whispering
to the cracks of the sidewalk leading up
to your door.
It doesn’t remember your name,
but your gentle stride left
marks on the wrists
of time.
I’m here,
mopping up the blood,
watching my first drink
of the night condensate
on the bar where
you left your
warmth.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2014
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