speaking until 6 am sunday
your hand holding my hipbone
hungry
confessing with kisses
that this is
what bliss is
im sick of a love so fleeting
a mid-week sudden retreating
sick of side-line sitting
till summer
how fitting that you
would warm up with the waters
im sick of the night sky reminders
-while walking alongside the river-
your eyes were star-shine and silver,
reflected,
your skin moonlight glowing
im sick of knowing,
in your memory,
the walk was you and the genesee
and i was there
to bear witness
to bear witness
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