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Stepping on St Augustine Two Months Past February.

JeanMarie Marchese Avatar  Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled Stepping on St Augustine Two Months Past February. which was written by poet JeanMarie Marchese. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Stepping on St Augustine Two Months Past February.

He's


sorry


for what he's done....


he's


apologetic, but the moon


she's crumbled in my palms and drenched


in my tears.


I rub my hands across my jeans and shoot stars across my ripped up, tarnished wardrobe


maybe he'll witness me before he closes his eyes


maybe he'll blind himself with tears...



I'm


kicking tomorrow off my feet so I can walk, barefoot, backwards and tattered over yesterday


and March burns the soles of my feet, I begged for quicksand, I begged for February
twentieth...



he held my hand, he held me, he placed his promises on my finger and GOD


how I wished...


my nails weren't broken, how I wished


I


was prettier....



He whispers through handwriting that breathes in the dark..


he begs me to open up to July, to a year later, to


HIM...


and these tears repeat in circles, I


WANT


to believe his truth, I want it to replace my broken heartbeat, I want it to save me and
smudge


moonlight


across my smile.




COME BACK


I beg to this irritable silence...


as if he has a choice now


come back..please,


I say


it's already 2010 and this game has been played since...


I


was 29, my eyes have blinked for you for years now....


PLEASE


stop...


cry us another August and place a halt on your mistakes...




April's cruel, I think, with her distance and control over my decisions, Florida tilts to
the west and I slip, a little, beneath the gifts the sky has given me...


I'm debating...


washing these blue jeans, of tarnishing the moon with Monday...


they're fraying and decorating unshaven knees, but he'd kiss them


he'd kiss my negligence and I'd


be able to forgive his mistakes and the abhorrent bruises that brought us here...



Whisper me St Augustine


and February

Twentieth


I say...


as I twist his promises around my finger...


let me...


hear


your


voice.

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