Within
He forgot the strength held in the soft bosom of superstition, and Saturdays
That became cloudy with no promise of awakening to scrambled eggs
and kisses…
He became movement in the trees, his entire body trembling as if she walked
Over his grave again and again…
She was different, and everyone knew magic was her air
Waiting with swollen lips and traces of love that could have been…
Never grounded, thoughts always somewhere between
Now and never….
And Forever…
It was always him
Her one and only love letter not yet opened...
A glistening silver heritage making love to a silhouette of tears…
Copyright © Tamiviolet Manchas | Year Posted 2008
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