Winter, Spring…Spring, Winter

It was ever so faint. Her voice trembled with fear of another day. It was a voice speaking in a time only seen in her splitting heart, needy. When the fall is at its peak her blood will boil and heave and bring from all extremities the vanities of self-loathing. And darkness will pour from her heart; and as night turns to day, so will her bosom.

I saw a man outside my window putting a new cigarette to his old, almost-burnt-out one. The one was dying the other full of life sparking, smoking and finally on its way – burning.

I noticed as I was sitting there that I had an old breath, dying. So, I picked up a new one and pushed the one of life against the exhausted one and I continued writing.

And I can feel my love crying for me in the dark when no one is there; when those places that love filled, echo with the question of why we each have only become a need that is filled when solitary desire reflects on the other’s form, a shallow existence for all that is…

The ocean, the sky and everything. But I’m sure we will spoil love again, again.


About onepercussive

I'm 48 haven't stopped moving since 2. Born in New Orleans, but have traveled the world. Please look for my upcoming work Coalfire Diaries. View all posts by onepercussive

2 responses to “Winter, Spring…Spring, Winter

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