mere inhalation
does little to combat the ache of longing;

a drowning man can do little with a glass of water but understand the truth of irony,
and only after one has emptied both lungs does the price of breath become apparent:

it is when, at the end of each day,
one head alights
on two pillows
that the meaning of “alone” is as clear–
as well-honed, as gleaming as bright blades serrating soft whispers in the dark,

and prayers becomes meaningless beside empty spaces shaped like no one
in a bed meant for two


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