I hear a nightingale outside my window
Some say he sadly sings of love and roses
I hear his song, its cheerful chirp, and know
My pain surpasses what he composes.
I drowned in love and was spat onto sand
Its salt mixed with mine, its tiny shells
Speckled my footsteps, invited my hand,
Glistened like gemstones in the waning swell.
You leave me, a smile hangs between our eyes;
I watch you melt down the stairs on tiny feet
And trace your form as the door opens wide
And you vanish in the sunlight of the street.
I suck your spoon, your straw, then I pick up
And lick the bitter rim of your coffee cup.

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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