The moment comes.
You. Unprepared.
Forsooth, even dialogue
run time or again
on bated breath
in not complete,
or available.
Or forthcoming.
It is not true, not then.
Vulnerable as you are
to say goodbye,
you do.
Reality viscerally
bestows itself
in the pregnant pause.
Mouth gaping.
Heart clings to life.
Feeling the words is easy.
Saying them
never is.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

Poem Kubili

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