and the plant leans into the light, its roots where dampness resides
the fertile rich of touch
the deep ancient elements of life
only satisfied when found
what can be done then, when the shops close
and the sun retires, and the streets lay
empty and bare?
the air does not want for me
it's breezes disinterestedly past
as I walk aimlessly forward
the dark and shadowed copses
of Harbor Boulevard, the lights gone
by this time of night
offer nothing but repose
my foot falls like intruders to no one
in response
the warm-less glow of dawn in a few hours
may offer something, but I don't care
for it much, very little
it means less in light of you
would it not be so
breathe moment to sullen moment
from the glorious moment that will not repeat
(nor I repent) from the awakening blush
that proves the rule
I had a heart
once
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