Tuesday, November 17, 2020

Previously Published in Convergence . . .

 With Infidelity

lingering at the edges of
a bed that may or may not still be
ours, we play at normalcy (whatever
that means).  Not touching as we make
menial conversation about our day's 
banalities.  Both afraid to cross
that intangible line we have drawn
down the center of our lives.  Finally,
a word is whispered, the latest lie.
It hovers above us for a prolonged
exhale, a moment
we both force ourselves to swallow
in silent dark.

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Previously Published in Epigraph . . .

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