to a man whose name was good
as the loneliness of his voice
singing of the islands on which we live
singing of the sun we had torn apart:
we cannot share what is whole
we break it then wait
with palms of blind beggars
wait for our piece to fall
into our hovering hands
holding on to nothing more
than that coin of chance
and hope rusted
last summer, when my mind was still
so unsure for you and your words
when my mind was still shaking
from the way you walked
unto the closed pathways
still in construction
made your foot soles stick their souls in
my undried cemented pavements
worn before they were new
when my mouth had said no
no longer will i
no longer do i
no longer the endless yes
yes to late night magic tricks
yes to sleepy eyes of early mornings
yes to rainy weather and baked sighs
warm inside until it was too hot
until i had to go outside
and catch a cold
walking in the sweat of dying clouds
would you say i am an honest one
who can say no when i mean no
who can say yes when i mean yes
who can say i don't know when
i don't know
and i don't know
when to say yes
when to say no
when to say i'm sorry, goodbye
or i'm sorry, i may have lied
i may want to still say yes
say i do
to last summer's hanging rain
collecting my uncut hair
last summer, i told you who
i loved you and hated you
i slept with another boy
with smiles drawn on my hands
had covered my mouth
and forgotten you
until you asked
in the summertime,
we wait for rust to fall
off that lonely coin we hold,
wishing we could catch a cold--
though we are no longer warm
even in that post-spring burn--
remembering, in the year before
rain only came in pieces
of our broken sun.
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