And This Is Not The End Of You

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First softer sounds

thrum through synapses,

then breaking waves soak the

lyrical land,

lilting to the quick of you,

bitter and beautiful.

 

You turn your back

but that languid language

takes wayward ways around

and snags at time

and holds onto you:

emerging or escaping.

 

The wrecking tide

leaves ghostly shapes,

desolate somewhere and

so long love-lost;

a beach, a boat,

a place, a man.

A life unlived in.

 

The whispered threat

cuts silence through its

cold, shell shaped echoing,

leaving a clue;

a solid ink imprint.

Who are you?

What might you do?

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