On What Day Do You Greet Me

August 31, 2010
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On what day do you greet me
in stilled silence, the instilled hollow
remnants of broken pieces
glass shards and toy soldiers
trampled down in puddles of mud
dirt piles on the pieces and
reflections fade from you
for a minute, I seem to have a shadow
but no more can I see
beyond the moors of the destitute
shallow refuge, undertaken
by your deft hands
whispering a colossus of reaction
stimulated by your lips
dry and silenced
by the days you do not see me





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