Things Unsaid
hair danced ballet
on her shoulder-tops,
giving way, bit by bit
to the light of the setting sun.
she asked what I thought;
shy and caught, I uttered
“it’s a beautiful day.”
summer cicadas sang
as a piece of her fell away;
before long, all was gone,
taken by the decay
of unspoken words.
Posted Aug 17, 2022, 3:21 PM UTC
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