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Clare Savage Mar 2020
9 empty wine bottles lined up next to each other-a color parade of past nights. white v neck with high waisted denim shorts. press play. willow smith playing in the background. we discovered our amsterdam air b&b doesn’t have air conditioning. we’ve been staying here for over 2 weeks wondering why it was so ******* hot in here. back to the lion king remake soundtrack. what if we could simply remake our life?
                              get a second go around. cold showers have started to      
         feel good. endless space. discovery in familiar places or motions.
                    press pause. approaching everything as if for the first time.
                                         in fact, we are. nothing is the same. not exactly.
               moments in time can resemble each other, but once a moment
                        passes it’s lost forever like an empty bottle waiting to be
                         thrown away only to turn around with the cork already
                                                       being pulled out of the next one. tastes
        different when it’s not with you. do you ever look up at the night
     sky and think how it’s the same sky someone sees on the other side
                                                                ­                                    of the world?
                                                          ­                                **** we’re trivial.
                                                                ­                        every last one of us.
                                                                ­                                                     but
                                                                ­                   what color would i be?

i’d say
blue
Clare Savage Jun 2018
The #2
1am
usually crowded
but empty now
We're alone
just you and me
just you and me
waiting to go home
waiting for my stop
You're asleep snoring
Are you waiting too?

     Love is a sweet torment.

Your beaten up, ***** boots
and your worn out blue jeans
slumped on the hard subway bench

I look at my reflection in the subway car window
getting lost in the image
Are you lost?
Am I?

     Love is a sweet torment.

I watch as the train moves
through the dimly lit tunnel
the lights there and gone and there and gone

What are you dreaming about? Are you
there and gone and
there and
gone?

My eyelids grow heavier
The jerks of the train ride
jolt me awake again
jolt me awake again
jolt me awake
jolt me
awake
jolt you
jolt
awake
again
me.

     Love is a sweet torment.
Clare Savage Jun 2018
a wandering breeze occasionally catches the white cotton curtains, blowing
them against the creased leather couch. eerie silence broken through by the static of the radio.
lights flash on and off. on and off. each flicker
quickly illuminates the room. for a second, I can see you in the doorway
but you dissolve just as quickly as you emerged into my blue
mind. only left with your shoes

collecting dust by the front door. the shoe-
laces a tangled mess along the scratched wooden floor. memories of you blow
between these four walls. my blue
eyes turned red from tear after tear. my head left pounding like the 80s classic beat on the radio.
telling myself to stop looking back that way
in hopes for just a minuscule flicker

of you again. trying to flick
off the crumbs of you left in the crevices of the couch. our couch. shooed
away by your biting words. you’d threaten to walk out the door,
but i’d always thought you’d look back. smoke blown
from my cigarette masks the permeating smell of your perfume. i switch the station on the radio,
a familiar tune fills these four wall—the blues.

trails of blue
leak down from the ceiling. a puddle grows, drowning even the smallest flicker
of a smile off my face. the voice on the radio
sings, a path of shoe-
prints leads me back to you. until a cool breeze blows
them all away. how am i to find my way?

i sit staring at the doorway
lost in haze of blue
time blowing
by. the seconds hand on my watch flicking
by. eyes closed, lost in the world of our shoes
dancing around in circles to the music on our radio.

no more music coming from the radio.
an empty doorway.
your shoes
still collecting dust by the front door. blue
painted these four walls. lights stopped flickering,
just left in darkness. no more you. no more me. just blowing

out the doorway into the blue. turning the radio
off. the flickers of my heart find some quiet
as i walk along carrying nothing but your ***** shoes.

— The End —