The Final Push

the constant push and pull

and then the final push.

when the weight of the world

is settling in your chest, unwarranted,


and the lightness of his

proximity has faded away/


I often thought of us

together, dangling

our feet off an old porch

in mid July. I often sat

beneath that old cherry tree

and felt what it was to be

whole / the moistened

petals sticking to my bare feet.


Now my throat burns

with whiskey with no tree to hold me,

but a love to stare at me

from far away,

seeing only the fragmented pieces

he shattered and took

all at once.


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