Without arm strength to wade the fog.
I’d watch you on the other bank.
I thought it was high fives.
In all of that time until you left.
With turgent eyes casting out.
The disconnect of us.
Every time you reached for me.
Your hands never slapped my face.
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Published by Luke Meyer
Author, blogger, painter, poet, schizophrenic, vitamin salesman. There's a shadow person living in my head is something I believe. Fiction. Digital art. Smalltime jobs. I do all these things. Bad biology is a lie. God is a robot. View all posts by Luke Meyer
Garden Path 