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petals grace your face

time glides to the end of the street,
licensed to the echoes of the feet.
left and right are the ways you’d find
but it looks like you’re leaving me behind

slow it from that pace
her petals grace past your face
of the things you might find
maybe that you’ve left me behind

chance can come and can be lost
wins can be had but at too high a cost
the future is what you’re gonna find
if you must leave me behind

wind swept dancing trees
raindrops will return to the sea
the babes eyes will open
to find you’ve already left me behind

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observations outside the bar

She spoke with her hands mostly, and attached to those hands were these long slender fingers that danced like a conductors wand during the saddest movement of his symphony. What I felt was like a knife in my chest in the night, and involuntarily dropped the plastic bag of beer cans onto the street corner we met. One of the beers rolled steadily, uninterrupted by the cracks and tiny pebbles on the rain battered floor, into the gutter. I’ve met men who’ve given up the drink because they found God, but I was willing to give up the drink because I found her. I met her through a friend, and didn’t talk to her because I was timid, but because my body was already in the middle of a multi-task. Controlling my erratic heartbeat, the fist feebly holding the plastic bag now hold my chest as if it were to jump out at any moment, though to others, might have looked like heartburn, sweat pouring down my face as though it were a hundred so degrees, while my teeth chattered when I opened my mouth as though it were a hundred so degrees below. I only pray she paid no attention to me, and to my pessimism, she didn’t. She smiled, and disappeared into the hungry fog of the night with a Twizzler in her hand. Such a beautiful smile with a haunting impression.

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Filed under fiction metaphor, stories