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 Feb 2021 shamamama
Amanda Hawk
I remember the water
How it felt
Upon my skin
And I am thirsty
To drink in each drop
These parched lips
Miss the rivers
Where I could swim
Freedom, ebbing and flowing
At one time, I was a part of the sea
And I covered everything
But these days, my skin cracking
Heart slowly thudding
To stop, my fingertips dust
And I am a whisper
Of the girl I once was
The desert sky's sand is stuck
under your fingernails and in my hair
your kisses are like the coast's sharp winds
and we're lightheaded from the sun
I walk barefooted
through white airport halls
looking back a thousand times
so often, feels like I'm twirling
and I never see your face
you're intertwined with the land
that is so different to you than to me
our travels are scratched knees and spice
but
our love feels as empty
as the forgotten streets
of european capitals now
and our home in my head is blank
like a page in a notebook
that has never been filled
we locked memories in amulets
and threw them out to sea
from ferries
that we fled from ourselves with
never once looked into your eyes,
really looked
all I see is the black pavement of the streets
you're summer that lasts all through winter
betraying me of snow
you're a diary lost
in Central Station
that I will never find again
I'll jump the trainĀ 
and I'll look back a thousand times
not finding your face
my mind spinning,
off again.
 Feb 2021 shamamama
jordan
poets
 Feb 2021 shamamama
jordan
a book with no cover
lies in our bones
depths of experience
no one else knows
guiding our words
by memories enclosed
written with hearts
by minds void of prose
sometimes poetry is anatomical
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