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Without a Sound

You promised
not to leave again;
that you would not disappear.
But the genie in the bottle laughs
because that’s all promises are–
wishes made of words.

I wish
I was not so stupid
with desire,
like a badly washed sweater
pulled out of shape
and faded.

You told me a story,
love of my youth,
with no theme
no denouement
no redemption.

I will not warm my hands
in the fires of your eyes;
I will not breathe a word
about the pain of a heart betrayed.

I will build my castle
on a mountain of glass
where no thought of you
will be allowed to scale
its steep, smooth sides.


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