Sunday Nights
I hold his throat in my hand
and I feel it vibrating. We sit this way for long moments as I
drink rum and watch Jeopardy. Sometimes he falls asleep.
Sometimes I hold so still my cigarette
burns down to my knuckles.
I have the scars to prove it.
2 comments:
Nice last line.
I've only seen longer poems on your blog. Do you write shorter poems like this very often?
I have a couple that are shorter. About 10 -15 percent. I want to fix the line breaks in this one. ehh.
Thanks for the compliment!
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