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Rushing Waters

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The water’s always turning
In my direction or not
The ache of my empty body
Screams for a table for four.
The sound of my mother’s trembling
Alarms me to mimic to helping hands of him.
The taste of sour tears settles
In the valley of my clenched lips.
The scent within the house
Longs for a trail of fresh cologne.
The space between my arms swells
As I hope for his warmth to return.
Until I realize
Forever my body will long
For those waters to rush,
Filling my veins with life once again.





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