When I know I'll see you I cry
with unadulterated remorse
that "I" includes "will"
"will" stands between then,
more than months, than road.
I'm sick with miss.
My throat waters from swallowing
air
rolling into me, empty
bringing months, bringing road.
And any shade of your skin or hair
or teeth in the sunset
only tastes the same as
"will."
may 24, 08
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