Walking on stones
I try to memorize the language of your heart,
Words of another tongue longing to be whispered
Over the soft ripples of the bay.
Id like to believe
That, maybe ours is the brackish promise
Of ageless jetties and corner shops,
Melting mint ice cream and visits to tourist-weary goldsmiths;
That my whole life had led me to you.
I pause, knowing that
As it will be
The future speaks with no words,
Singing in passing glances I will wait
Wishing upon these photographs that capture
What my heart is too reckless to concede.














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