Forsaken Loft
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A bittersweet taste of isolation grips
While climbing high on a forsaken loft ,
Escorted by a window’s glassy beam
And I notice a disarray of keepsakes…
History books, stale cigars, antiques
In fluted trunks all muddily undone:
Somehow, a cloud turns deep violet
Where I uncover a file of private notes;
Intimate as your very skin, your breath
Marking our years’ affectionate episodes—
`````
Till my dire soliloquy, my ached calls ,
Hide beneath an ocean of black stars
Recalling now, your gentle kiss
As you leave to fetch a Sauvignon
Warming a rainy October nightfall :
Yet sirens greet me, deafened by
Fate’s ending This room holds me
In total vagueness that my lungs
Pine for your name I can only hear,
As midnight groans like a widow for it.
11/20/2017 Picture 3
Photostory Contest for Eve Roper
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2017
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