evening: low again


fragile, the strands that you pull
out of my hands and dance, carefree
as if all you needed was this spring
but I am reduced to a sigh that
breaks free, from my chest but I
fall down again and sigh again
I really don’t want to cry again
For the evening, quieter than a sob
pours in through the dirty window
yellow, and mellow, and low again
I think the world’s getting slow again
when fingertips feel the soft heart beat
I dread we are going to die again…


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