Long time, no poem

This malcontented day creeps slowly by

a slow shuffle of feet dragging over rubbled concrete

greys becoming greys of a different shade – all a mix of white and black

the view from my window creaks under the damp weight of the afternoon

a sheen of sweat lingers in the air, tense and earthy

and you still cross my mind, running

between the shadows and misty longing

revenge always puts a bitter taste under my tongue

and bends me backwards in ecstasy

but what could be better than a slow burning

and having no choice but to burn with you


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