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Keela Wale Oct 2012
Sunrise.
My breath smells like your mouth used to taste
on early mornings after late nights together,

and we would kiss and not mind
because we were one and we were in love and
we were whatever things were.

My eyes are in Florida,
watching the sun rise over your face and
the bank where the ocean lapped up
over our bare 5:00 feet.

We looked for alligators.
We snuck into the men's shower together
for a silent dance party and
our usual admiration of the human body.
We tried to make it special.

So here I sit,
leathering hands,
smokey face,
lost thoughts for all the right reasons,
and too many expectations.

I might erode to nothing before you ever get to me.
nivek Apr 2016
Living within this crumpling skin
leathering to the elements
all self delusions crease and crumble
becoming one with the old leather settee.
They say you are part of the furniture
long before your funeral
sinking in the folds, morphing into a couch potato.

— The End —