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I Won't Cry

If I could have one spoonful of your daily feast, just one spoonful that my eyes might shed their wanting hue, I promise not to gloat against the raging beast that like a fire inside consumes this empty tomb. If I could have one taste of the sweet grape you drink, just one taste that I might know the joy that stains your lips, I promise not to dance and give you cause to think that drunkenness is what quivers these feeble hips. If I could spend one night lying in the bed you keep, just one night in silken sheets and pillows plush with down, I promise not to dream of things I'll never reap and tomorrow I’ll return to my place on the ground. Where hope transcends banality of shallow breath, where longing taunts the poverty of daily toil, I will resign my innocence to certain death, and I won’t cry as the victors celebrate the spoils.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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