Aged

Aged

Someday, when we can control the weather
and the strings of shadows are no longer pulled
by the sun stretching its fingers along the street,
when orange is no longer a taste and memories
can be bought from vending machines, I’ll buy
a snippet of your feet anxious for the sunrise
and how I sacrificed my side of the bed
so you wouldn’t wake, how shirts and sweaters
were as unwelcome as saying goodbye,
or how the gibberish you spoke
was more melodic than anyone could have thought,
and I’ll smile knowing my money was well spent.

(dtn)

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2 Comments

Filed under Words

2 responses to “Aged

  1. gerald

    nice buddy…

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