Union

Long hours that we find ourselves in
making rules to tide us over.
No showy emotion to reveal
just dead fish eyes.
I miss you
three words and another life behind.
Strange seasons pass
there is an economy of words
and soon I’ll lift on the ebb and flow
the detritus of days will see me rise
above the confines of woe.
The rain leaves traces on the dust
Summer turns to Autumn
I’m no longer young.
The fire it dims (imperceptible to you but it dims none the less)
I turn over old words, old lies
I make a fool of myself and feel the sinking.
Until love reveals itself in you
and in that moment I find myself
in a silent sacrament of knowing.

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  1. Beautiful words.

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