Gone

Can I fly by you

like a fly on the wall

stopping only to glimpse

at your happenstance

wait across

the street

for a girl

that wasn’t me.

Can you pick me up

next weekend

at eight

me, in my blue dress

black heels

and dance with you

until you see

I can’t tell if it’s just you

or the way my hair swims

back and forth

blocking both the UV

and the light

falling from our eyes,

each blink

I’m blinded

until I reach for my glasses–

and you’re

gone.

August 17, 2014

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7 thoughts on “Gone

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