Moratorium
Echoes of us ripple through
time like stones skipped, slicing
icy surfaces of winter waters,
thawing. Fumes fog mirrors of lost conversations
confusing things I’m certain you said - all
you’d deny that I did - breath
steaming our rose-tinted glasses, wilting.
Hearts beat against an electric current, leaping
upstream with spectral salmon desperate to
escape inevitables, flee set in stone
choices. Those words we both
carved. Knife upon bark.
Once entwined like ivy, our fingers leave
roadmaps in red pricks of thorns, to one day
find a way back to this house of the dead. A
crypt for romance placed under matrimonial
moratorium. In memoriam.
(16.2.21)
Copyright © Thomas Harrison | Year Posted 2021
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