24 Readings | 0 Ratings

Not Guilty

The squeak of my aloneness,

mambo of my forgiveness.


Let every late. night. star

call me King.


Could I say      out loud

that I still


say your name

under my tongue –


while you’re sleeping,



there –

and can’t believe it’s you?


You’ve come forth

as my own – a moment


not needing

of justification, for once – what an acquittal


of poetry 

Posted 06/29/19
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