Mournings

It was fathers day
a weak kneed holiday
drizzled on the calendars like a storm warning
All I could do was promise
that there was life after July
the desperation within my lies on fire

there was still so much music we hadn’t heard
so many places our first-class tickets had yet to expose
but with death knocking down our front door
time started to leak from our faulty kitchen sink.

the yard needed trimming
we sat side-by-side against a sorbet sky
dissecting the life we had just began living
your prescription pills provided goodnight kisses to sleepy lashes
I was swimming through a summer high

 

 

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