Monday, November 15, 2010

Ghosts, again

Can you smell a different whiff
In my breath
You smell the surface.

And you see me
Standing at the street side
While I walked that mile.

I sense awkwardness
Fearful for we have nothing to exchange
We are creatures of inanity.

In this twisted ghosts life of ours
You keep up
Awkwardness surfaces occasionally

You masquerade conversation

You keep the thrifty words keyed in
I keep my guard on
I talk to your reticent vocabulary

Such a strange association

You knock on my door
Looking for some brightness
You pretend to be content

I know, I play along

We hide familiarity in closets
We are strangers again
With nothing to say.

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