he says
to the way I’ll never kiss you again.

Whistle of a train breaking from the floorboards,
music of wet cement, sweet Black and Mild through
a vent, and this is not the end, but it is almost the end.
The something still to be done. The pruning of shrubs.

Do anything. Please.
Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.