Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

38


Hot breath blown,
Brushing against the tip of my lip,
Comforts, like the touch of a security blanket.

Below
Smoke folds into the sky;
Slowly up into another place.
Higher, past clouds of the same colors.

Condemned.
Emptiness fills a bottle,
Barefoot, gravel darkened soles of feet.
Where we used to walk;
Connected.

I now walk alone.
A sun I used to love,
Now blinds me.
Burned, aging, it shines
dimensionless

I picture you lying on a cloud,
Asleep, content
Petite arms, tanned;
38.
laughing

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