Wednesday, September 28, 2011

your water glass.


even when borders separate us
and I do not feel your 
breath on my cheek or your
water glass on my bedside table,
your shoes, grayed laces,
stained socks, kicked off under bed
even when my pillow loses the smell
of your scalp, sweet,
sweat, dirt, plums
even now I still feel every compass
in my heart fighting the wind
(and 1400 miles)to point to you


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