Whistling In The Dark
A Slip Of The Pen
Bronxville 1998
Collapse - To O.C.S. on 9/11/01
Thursday
Poetry Poem
Even Now
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Whistling In The Dark
I woke,
with the sweet, red stains
of your kisses on my face-
and I was empty.
Your words
linger in the pools of melted fog
and rain-rotted leaves...
they bring me no relief-
I am bleary-eyed and sick.
Somehow,
in the darkness,
you crept in...
half phantom, half angel-
while night's tongue lapped
at the corners of your bed
and I slept peacefully.
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Whistling In The Dark
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