The calm

The way she pauses
before she looks back,
this place that lasts
is split between faces
like time between jobs.
That split in the headache
where the drugs start working,
signing their names
across the point of no return
while all these dancers
do it because they want to.
I would love it here,
if only for the moment,
that woman who touched me,
like she meant it
before leaving me alone,
the way
we all want to be when we’re done.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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