Sonnet in Palm Springs
We ate a Kentucky hot brown and we
Thought of love as songs in all of the trees
But we were stationed at a motel 6
And isn’t this the end of all fine things;
This two of us depending on the one
And isn’t dependency just empty
Rustling of the leaves or simply none
Or I can barely even find my hands
Without your own on mine. Superfluous me,
Barely learning about my own shadow
And kicking the tin can away from us
And snapping the lilac’s stem above you.
But I was satiated on my own terms
And begun to sing my very own song.
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