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In Love with Godot

Actions may speak
louder than words,
but you are a book
I can no longer read.

I wait for words
that might not have any meaning
even if you said them.

Standing in the wings,
I wait for my cue,
afraid.
I step out onto the set anyway–
a dining room in a house in suburbia,
table set for two.

We say our lines,
but the femme fatale

longs to cry.

Our whole stage
has become a little world
where two players
are merely people.

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