the Next Sentence
.and the period began my breakdown.
The breaking long overdue like cracked windshields feeling the pressure of potholes unseen.
Splitting glass shattered
Into a mosaic I couldn’t yet see,
separating your explanation of why we really can’t be
Semi-Releasing me
From the
Drip feed of
crybaby love poems in iambic meter.
Because I forgot
the quality of mercy is not strain’d
we were never meant.
Our bees fluttered in a twisted pattern and our
Flights tangled.
caught in the residue of our first meeting,
I forgot all appointments are inked in by God. I tried to take control of the wheel and
was jolted,
jilted
and too soon you were gone
before I realized that while sweet, honey is sticky.
and my wings still flap to break free from its dead body,
so they can fly again.
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