poem twenty-five: once

you reached with words
across a space
full of the unsaid,
easier to hold
than hands, and hearts
are never really held
at all.

you walked away,
returning to the solid
stable place, while I
sat on the stone
steps, smoking,
a lorry blocking
my view of your face,
and hers.

Honestly, there are five days left of this challenge and half the time I don’t even know what I’m talking about in the poems anymore.

But well there they are.


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