Sow to Speak

We could go all those years
without talking,
and right where we
walked away from crossing lines, you
would stumble on
the undergrowth I left
you to find.

A product of its time,
lumber heart, stumps sticking out
of hellscapes,
merely paces apart.

How we went all that time not
picking up the
phone,
saying hello,
talking out
the plot twists of a
kiss on my jawline, then
a knife down
the wrist; it’s not
lightly atoned for.

Love on the
fritz is
best popped
like pimples,
not
questions,
the marriage
of compromised
minds
a resentment
all its own.

We could go decades, yes,
and we would hardly
ever feel alone.

Long as the youth in our bones and
rose-colored
cheeks
could walk and chew bubble gum,
we were almost beautiful to some,
the fallacious conundrum of
being ugly
to most
debunked.

We could have
gone without
the closure of
getting old,
the skin of bones caught
on gravity,
deforested composure
growing over malady,
strangers in this
new age
habitat
consistently
collapsing.

We could go years without talking, but there would
be more than this apathy,
so to speak.

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2 thoughts on “Sow to Speak

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