Burned Bridge

I can’t hear his voice,
low growling whispered

to the moon or another
specter beyond us,

not pure or clean. Haunted,
we struggle to maintain,

only coming undone.
We are not enough to hold

each other together, chasing
memories and heart

ache buried in the cemetery
of our minds, loam-soaked

and begging for company–
I’d like to believe his tongue

was cut out long ago,
thrown deep into waves where

he’ll never echo a response
to my kerosene-filled call…


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