They murmur sweet nothings
like only spirits can.
But their sincerity
means more than the world to me.
Who would regret
trusting in a lost and lonely soul,
tracing stars for the time being,
bidding the wanderer farewell, and then some…
One can never precisely remember
the words of the night air heavy with fears
arching to engulf two mere strangers who crouch
in a space of their own muddy making.
In all sincerity, upon recollection:
today’s hands were open despite the hour
and every ounce of love I gave
was meant to be for keeps.
Jennifer Burnside
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