Poem #52

The beauty is washed away from her
face with every rain. Her years are hitting
the ground like leaves. She doesn’t have
any more springs and the sun isn’t
warming the hills of her body.

He is fading away with each sip from
that bottle. His youth is going away
with every cigarette he holds the way
he held her. His pillows are worn out
because he hugged them at night pretending
they were her.

They are walking a lonely road not realizing
it’s time to put pride to rest and wear out
their legs running back to each other
before the sun sets on the last opportunity
they have left for happiness.

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1 thought on “Poem #52

  1. I love that image of the years falling like leaves

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