Unfinished
My breath contains seeds of deep reflection
a reminder that time is a nuisance and memory a gamble
More so in this late hour,
When all I have left in the cupboards
is the darkness you gave
But I remember
I asked for your fiction.
I wrote the lines,
inked the measure.
I begged for this pain,
I opened the front door,
And let you in.
now my house is empty
empty house
on an empty street
In an empty town,
where winter has come,
and I'm unable to warm
the bottom of my feet
Copyright © Tomas Vincent Marra | Year Posted 2016
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