Tagged: hopeless

this late into the

somehow we are done

somehow we are done
with one another and this
is what it feels like –
packing six inches
of dirt over concrete
and imploring warmer
memories to grow

on this side of

on this side of
midnight, the heart holds
dress rehearsals for
pain, so that
by daybreak, every
word is appropriately
costumed, every feeling
suitably polished,
and we won’t at all
look towards each
other, waiting
hopelessly for
the next line