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The Newness of the Mourning.
By Billy | February 22, 2010
the newness of morning had not yet departed.
she sat patiently by the door
waiting to slip silently into
wherever she goes when she’s gone.
and the sunlight gently kissed my eyelids
almost reminding me of an ill fated lover.
the one of whom i am sweetly unaware
while i carelessly forgot my dreams.
she and all her glory
almost
almost made it
but a click of the latch on the way out the room
roused me with exorbitant violence.
so on this twisted back i lay
with aching spirit
breaking spirit
waking spirit
making…
prayers.
the sun has overstayed her welcome
she compliments the grains of salt
resting in my eyes
and splits the lids who cleave together
she speaks to me in lies
and the newness lurks behind the scenes
watching, waiting, free.
She hides away and still I know
she’s hiding deep in me.
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