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The City On A Fair Day In Late Summer

We sit on uncomfortable
folding chairs on your rooftop
overlooking the city.
The adventures we could have
here, together.
They’re on a silver platter,
just for the two of us.
They’re begging us to grab a plate
and dig in.

But we don’t
remember how
anymore.

We sit in silence,
mostly,
listening to the blaring sirens
every few minutes.
I try to take you in
for the last time
(Who knows if Ulysses
shall ever see The Prophet
again?).
You haven’t changed at all.
Those freckles still lightly
dot the bridge of your nose,
and your hair still has that Superman
curl to it,
and the flecks of gold,
which I’ve grown so fond of,
still rim your pupils.
But I don’t know you anymore.
We’ve put valleys and mountain ranges
between our hearts.

But I miss you less
and less
everyday.
I’ve started drinking
whiskey straight from
the bottle
to drive those thoughts
away.

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