The Road Was Empty
laden limbs
and pocketfuls of gems,
diamonds, and kisses of jade
stuffed
inside weary linens
a parting laugh
pulled apart by the wings
of closed lips
batting eyelashes
a sigh
a reaching wrist
tearing
the unison
of silent agreement
and each set
of tired muscles
will not ache
until the road
is closed
Stephanie Valente lives and writes in New York. One day, she would like to be a silent film star.
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