A.j. Binash

(04-20-1988 / Dodgeville WI)

Dying Hurts


Aged Darling
Sits at the edge
Of the glass doors,
Exhales a sigh
Traces words
Into the fog
Her breath creates
On the glass.

Outside
Is the tempting air.
Producing fragile lust
That breaks apart
The minute
Passion becomes a chore.

The words fade
Like dying apparitions.

Vanishing
Into a speck
Of white fog.

No larger,
Than the circumference
Of a rose's stem.

The outside air is begging her
Not to go towards the speck.

“Avoid the light! ”
It screams.

As drool,
Absorbs into the carpet,
She closes her eyes
To the fog.

What dies
Are nothing but words.

Submitted: Monday, February 17, 2014

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