Treading Sand


Photo Credit: JakezDaniel at

We walked together,
my hand cupped by yours,
my heart tangled with yours,

and hot breath
on cold windows,
cold mornings
where saying goodbye
bore no resemblance
to reality.

I screamed.
You only whispered,

and the lines criss-crossed the desert,
the vast significance
of our separation
treading sand
as if it were water.

I’ve got paper wings
and a plastic heart
and you’re caught up
in wandering webs of doubt
created by your own antipathy,
the whirlpool of condensation
you kept from my cup,
the hopeless in the hoping,

so now we’re here,
alone and together,
near yet apart.

I can almost taste you,
that sweet flavor
of your tongue
as you pretend
that time’s not moving.




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