It’s Over But It’s Not Over

Woken by a church bell tolling,
A confidant asleep in my bedroom, so the day begins
By crawling, fingers poised
Against a cerise hue.

Dawn is an animal that pulls itself
Over my body, a pressing, a swell.
Touched by the vapors of morning,
The hum of a kettle on a burner is music.

Alone is noun, a place
I sit myself down, along with my teacup.
Alone is a holy temple trodden on
By a welcomed sigh.

We heave ourselves apart,
Like splitting a mountain in two;
We move away in different directions,
Like branches and roots.

The future is daydreamt,
The tossed gull on the wind an echo.
I have already been,
I think of nothing but two shells gripping the pearl.

Heartache, is the window,
That holds the sidewalk like paint,
That withholds the audible tilting
Of wine bottles, I am sure.

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