Friday, May 31, 2024

Space To Fill (May 2024)



you grasp at straws when I start to trickle away like the remnants of a storm on a tenth story window

but you cling out of boredom and not having anyone else devoted to occupy the space

I cycle the rounds of your brown optics, beaten chucks to the pedals, your velocipede behind mine soaring over the bridge over the highway 

all that severs me from you is a sense of mutual stubbornness and a center console 

as i console you 

explaining why you are valid in your mildly  extravagant shifts in self sacrifice to goons somewhat emulating mannequins in department stores 

brand their necks and let them reciprocate 

tell me come tomorrow on a bench how fruitless your endeavors were 

leave space in the air for me to scoff and waste the oxygen between us 

we’ll both leave sad and un-satiated 

you’ll find someone to fill the space i left in your arms only more aggressive in the assertion of usage as opposed to wholehearted reaching 

i’ll find a cigarette tucked in the back of my bed side drawer

we’ll both be content with what we found and sleep that night without remorse 

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