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Luke Mar 2018
a false confidence.
The shining, shimmering idea
that there’s somebody looking out for you.
But it’s still black when dawn invades the dark
and as your night ends
mine stretches well into the sun.
Luke Mar 2018
you silent monument to a happier time and place
hang beneath a sky
that promised bigger and better things.
And time has not been kind.  
Your coat has cracked under duress
and the softest wind takes pieces of you when it leaves
like ashes in a plume.
The sun does not smile upon you.
It burns.
Luke Mar 2018
Cast out,
I leave the hostile universe of your arms
in search of warmer suns.
It’s not hard to be alone out here,
but the infinity is humbling.
An endless stretch of nothingness.
In time I will look back at the darkness
at you, a satellite in the vacuum,
for no matter how far I drift
I feel your gravity, though weakened,
it still grips.
Luke Mar 2018
There’s a depression in my bed
where last you lay your head
and I still roll over in the night
just to catch your scent.
But it’s fleeting,
and once the mattress has finally reset
the depression will still remain
only it will be the one inside my head.
Luke Jan 2018
The radio wheel clicks beneath your fingers
and silence follows.
This time it was something I said.
And you're not looking at me anymore.
Your eyes are fixed ahead.

Toward oncoming traffic
or maybe a bug,
guts across the glass, spread.
You're tuning out my apologies.
Your eyes are fixed ahead.

The gears beneath us churning
drive the distance in my head
the gap between the seats;
between us
seems to measure the greatest of lengths.
There's traffic in three lanes
and we're heading toward a mess
You say 'I love you."
But your eyes...
they stay fixed ahead.
When it becomes clear that it's over.
Luke Nov 2017
Thumb to test the water,
headlights stream,
one, two, three,
a dozen pass.  
Between horizons,
indifferent and distant,
forward or back,
a stagnant traveller
always in motion
settles for nowhere.
When life breaks down.
Luke Nov 2017
Early sun by the stair
looms a shadow over discarded shoes,
an open door, empty suitcase.
For two.
Ways parted in A.M silence,
a single passing glance, of thought,
of shame.
Dear, we won't be here again,
or the same.
Oh but what time won't change.
The moon to a passenger,
your room still haunts me at night.
These sheets around my throat,
know they are not mine.
Morning girl,
I will learn in time,
not to be so tired.
We haven't spoken since.
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