too close

conversations flow like melting snow upon the mountains of the memories of what we'd make the world / and in between the moments we demur to take the blame for every season brings the hope of something more / and every single one of us not you not me but all of us were there / to solemnize a promise that we'd never hold too close what we should share / but there were moments in the dim our tongues touched to the whiskey and the salt / when we rolled in and out of beds not too specific but way too gestalt / it turned out love was all we knew but we were not that good at it it seems / and now we shift our focus such that signifies our paucity of dreams / the feelings that you've lost a type of backwash in the center of your heart / and all this talk a hillside view of what became of what we meant to start / of what we meant to start and kind of did and kind of didn't in the end / and now there's only melting snow and what is left of what was once your friend

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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