Time, Difference

I’m hurtling, I’m hurtling underground
and thinking of your still sweet head
all messed up
on the pillowcase
avoiding morning
and I’m so far away from it
and you
might be with her.

I hope,
years later,
we’ll remember this time
always one of us watching through the night
while the other slept.

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February 6, 2011. boys, poetry, writing.

4 Comments

  1. Studebaker Hoch replied:

    You have a marauding sentimentality about you.

  2. swingsandskateboards replied:

    I try to keep a lid on it, but sometimes the nails don’t hold.

  3. ladyjecca replied:

    Beautiful darling.
    An original I’ll assume? x

  4. swingsandskateboards replied:

    Thanks! I know it’s a bit silly & 14-year-old-ish of me, but YES I AM posting my own poetry on the internet. Jeepers! I’m aging backwards like Benjamin Button.

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