poetry

Communications 243 free verse

Communications 243
Communications 243, not much to see but the dreary droop of eyelids over coffee, hands go up , hands go down, the changing pitch of sound clings to my ear, don’t hear you come in and sit next to me. Turns out public speaking is free but what you said has been said and frankly you looked stupid. The red graphic tee and defined political beliefs, with that beard laying pompous on your chin letting out a subtle grin, you tap on on my shoulder. Those eyes blink, hypnotizing and suddenly were older. Holding withered wrinkled hands, the tarnished golden band, on my finger, dust and aged photos on the mantle. I agree on breakfast. The most important meal of the day and theres so much to say and the presences of attraction pushing ever forward every day. The days turn into nights , to adventures in graveyards to the early morning conversations sitting in my car, looking to my right and down at my unblemished held hand. 7 months pass, in that same seat I sit, crying and howling a howl of defeat and there you are, eyes open wide guarded natures aside, you look in my eyes and tell me that you love me. 500 miles is far and three months long, but I’ll be playing that song, from the 40 to the 210 , up my streets with there foreign familiar names, the proclaimers proclaiming your love for me. And you best believe I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more, just to be the woman to fall down at your door. But our love is more than dedication, conviction its my latest addiction, pulls me in, holds me close, grab a glass, here’s at toast, to that September morning in communications 243.

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