woods

When I look at your face in hastily taken or

painstaking pictures, the brick and mortar

world I have built for myself 

unhinges. 

I suddenly, violently,

miss mornings with your coffee and 

conversation. 

I dream about the salty-

sweet taste of you. 

I am angry about the way things turned out here,

I want to close the door on the things I have

earned since then. I just want to 

walk away. 

I want to go to the woods with you and set fire and 

dance. 

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