Pros



I often wonder if I'll ever hear from you again
or if the memory of us is all I have to talk to
to play with down by the ocean's end
in the sand and on the breakwater rocks

the night that you left me and told me
all the things I never heard before
(except a few times in the past
from kind gentlemen with surprises up their sleeves)

left me alone on the other end
and no matter what I try to cover with my tears
you saw through it without mercy
and the sound won't ever leave my head

and I am trapped behind this keyboard
pounding out jars that hold the preservations of my past
waiting for a dry spell that most poets fear
and I only hope for amid vanity's persistence

 

 

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