“Untitled”

each night I’ll sleep a minute longer –

another inch of healing away from you,

i’ll talk a good game until my eyes can close –

then tiptoe around the thought of you,

on a couch –

whispering about your closed doors that couldn’t open,

or wouldn’t –

no matter what gust of love blew.

~

Editor: Bryonie Wise

Like elephant literary journal on Facebook.