The Strangling Season
In the strangling season
There are too many flowers to count.
My loves fall like petals against my ears.
All this undeserved yammering.
Showers of grace.
And here I kick empty buckets
Remembering what never was.
Age wears you like a coat.
It’s always heavier than you think.
So start moving. Be unbridled.
There is nothing around your neck.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2015
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