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2.12 a.m | nyc

Four hours and I will wake wake as I wake now,
uncomfortably lonely; this yearning it parses miles.
Does it travel the Harlem current? Can you feel me?
Once you said I could make someone materialize from so many miles.
Does this hold true tonight?
Or are you sleeping soundly, breath regular and steady –
cocooned in safe domesticity contented with the choices that you’ve made.
I am utterly lost where once so utterly found.
    I thought –
Perhaps – it seems – now though – anyway –
I’ve had it all wrong.
The heart is not contented with fondness.
It’s a cheap word.
I believe what I read, what you wrote, said,
what I felt, what I saw – the we of us,
the exchanged look beneath the musk tree,
certainty of love. My conviction.
You tell me you cannot love two.
You tried, such confusion me; a wrench in the cogs.
Nothing beautiful – I thought – but –
And me the archivist, documentarian:
What good these scraps of paper -
Words that now mean no more - an alphabet soup –
meaningless, lost to the ether.
God, give me ether – anesthesia; numb this grief.
Pills those gentle pastels – a pure drip of dilaudid –
I shall go quietly -
I shall wrap shards of heart in your tissue.
Run to the witness tree and sob my hard-jerked tears
commingling with the dirt: no-more than mudpies I.
These  long blonde silks I grow for you –
flaxen-haired and plain – me, the same as any other –
ginger-freckled pale slip of a thing, green-eyed girl.
No-one nevermore will speak my name;
Sarah Heleina Hebrew – maydala
When you said it and I came
and the river breached the shore, rising as I rose,
a perfect rose, rose of sharon, I budded on your palm,
I sang my swan-song for the first-tme ever in your embrace
    did you know? do you believe?
Nobody heard but we two. That day, the next.
Silenced now.
The bells over Fifth have been muffled.
The carrillon now soundless.
Only the death-knell is fixed.
I am eclipsed in quick moment by the boom’s heavy swing.
You – refusing even to see my face –
How are you then to know what is real?
Where does one find clarity?
How am I to know any more –
Each day I walk these broad avenues,
saucer-eyed hungry ghost
wanting once for you to see these cheekbones white electrical
this lyre bow mouth soundless searching aphasic,
marbled searching-eyes wanting opened lens to receive you
This is my S.O.S. - 2.12 a.m. – my signal straight to you.
And I will wait…. I will wait…
I wait in the belief that you will be there.

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