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When I stop writing poetry for too long

May 19, 2015

When I stop writing poetry for too long, I continue to make allusions at the gas station, holding the nozzle waist high, blowing kisses, exaggerating a wink –

He shakes his head to smile from behind the passenger window;

I still see a curve in the white, plastic lawn chair and imagine the way it looks with his body occupying its negative space.

We want to never be alone.

Now his scent has become my own over the course of time, our animal bodies busy composing poems that are only legible after he is asleep –

I used to believe that when I stopped writing them, I started living them, until it became apparent that the writing makes the living finer, more full-bodied;

When I stop writing poetry for too long, I still look at the stars. Usually long after he has fallen to sleep –

Still obedient to this knee-jerk for filling in the blank of air we’ve entitled being alive.

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