you stand palpable
against the cold light
as the grain of the moment scrapes
along your delicate roads
in sharp grey angles
you trace dotted lines
across the weakest faults, yearning,
finding comfort in the preparation
.
when the moment comes, i promise you’ll miss it
some days later, signs will begin to fall into focus:
the trace of a smile
unexpected on your lips,
returning to a forgotten future
and you’ll miss the next one too
until it starts to hollow your legs with sleep,
and the preparation begins anew
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