September
by Charles Entrekin

In you, tonight, I felt your emptiness,
and yes, I wanted to pour myself
inside it, my hands in your life,

how it was as we ran the paths
in the park, the dahlias all in bloom,
dusky red, yellow, like flesh
at the center,

and when we spoke of broken things,
and you said, touch me, hold me,
and I did.

 

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