deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Drift (Once we were.)

It lightens, occasionally,
a burden in my overfilled head
and yet it's weighty when wind freezes the blow.
 
It's inconsequential
with the roots and stem unready,
drearily submerged in Adam's ale, deterioration is evident by it's glow.
 
The mutt pines and aches with haunting,
locked in the beat of your chest but you're elsewhere, breathing steady,  
breathing out athwart this old frame, last moments in slow-motion.
 
Add snapshots that linger  
until the Spring takes what's left behind a chemical shed
and strains it of feeling. Still gasping and still wheezing the tenderness hides, under the snow.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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