Monday, July 23, 2012

In August

In August ache was an aged ally
bleeding through eyes, nose and mouth
as watery wisp or crimson canary.
In August you visited friends
while I confided in strangers
so senseless.

In August you were wearing wings
while catching a flight
or sailing on escalators
while I leaned listlessly on lifts
and took the bus.
In August we dressed
in a nine to five folly
to repress solitude's spinster act.


In August we e-mailed
and you called daily
telepathy was the transition
in our voices so vulnerable
In August defiance doomed to an early death
marvelled at how a continent
and a six hour flight would never let us meet
first and last awaited.

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