Monday, November 24, 2014


You are drifting into the black-and-white blur
that divides reality from imagination. How long

did my hand linger in the delicate small
of your back? How deep was the green

in your eyes the first time you let me
see them all the way through? Is everything

as soft as I remember everything being?
Did the cinnamon of your breath really mix

with the hunger of my mouth upon yours? You are
a haunt to me, a fading gray of unremembering.

Eunoia Review - November 2014

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