She pulled you
into the porch
of the church
and kissed your
lips while others
made their way
inside for choir
practice and no
one seemed to
miss you for the
time it took for
a kiss or two and
as you made your
way back around
the church along
the path between
graves half lit in the
moon’s light she held
your hand giving it
a squeeze and now
and then beneath a
later moon’s glow
with stars like glittering
coins in the sky you
imagine she is there
again and didn’t die.
BEFORE CHOIR.
BEFORE CHOIR.
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Re: BEFORE CHOIR.
This poem actually hurts, a friend died on Wednesday and the last lines are a killer.
~A
~A
Re: BEFORE CHOIR.
Thank you, the mingo & Anna.
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