The Way We Talked

The way we talked

sad mumble jumble

incomplete thoughts

on a silly sultry

summer night when June kissed Luna goodnight.


That night we

danced slowly

to a Viennese waltz

played by a

rock band in

the empty street of shuttered store fronts where the dreamless slept.


Have we ever

learned anything

of each other

from the endless discourse of incomplete sentences without noun or verb?


At the dawn

Morrigan played

her silver flute

with her black

feathered fingers

and you became me

and I became you the final battle lost forever and we were now immortal.


Aphrodite found

her revenge

as we drank our

morning coffee

with our croissants

that fed our bliss

and we wrote

our new poetry

and sonnets about futility of love we would share for eternity.

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