Not the one, or the one,

but one:


strikes down

even gods.

I am who I am,

but without

the silence to kill.

I forgive us both

the slippery hope we shared.

Together we were more

than one discordant circle.

Wrapped in dry mouth’s

slow-tongued kiss,

we blurred beneath

late autumnal leaves.

(June 16, 2019)

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