The End of the Affair

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My partner and I called it
a year and a half ago.
It was time. Something
she’d never understand.
We’d been going up and down
the same road for years and
it had become nothing but
out and back with no exit
other than here and there.
And so this silence of a life,
this loss of the waves
of tremors I’d feel when
we’d take off together,
the vibrations of ear
and heart that would spark
these visions I’d share
with the few who might care
to see, to hear, to feel
what I did.

She’s waiting for me now,
for me to sit with her and
warm one another on
this cold January day,
to set our course wherever
I want now, instead of
our old north and south.
I miss our alone time,
there in the crowds
of steel and flashing red,
when a song, a memory,
an image other than
dashes of white on black
drawn on a windshield
chalkboard, would become
flesh as soon as she
let go of my hand, and I
grabbed that of my
other secret partner, my #2
of yellow. And so now,
The rest is silence.

This and the previous poem are so reminiscent of the blast of writing I’d do after my commute each morning from Clifton Park to Albany. Both accomplished in less than an hour. I’m sure they show it, but that’s how I work…or don’t.

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3 thoughts on “The End of the Affair

      • Most of them I understand through the first read. Some of them, however, I have to read a couple of times and then, probably because of all my English classes in college, I can see two or three possibilities of what you’re really saying. In other words, I probably overthink a lot of things, thus creating fog that isn’t there! 🤔 😉

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