Desolate Blue

 

Sat outside sippin' some wine
in the late afternoon,
middle of June.

She said the weather was fine
but she wanted to say,
"Please go away
from me."

 

Strange how perceptions can change
in a moment or two,
take me and you.

The sky is desolate blue,
it's an ocean above:
Fallen from love
are we.

 

Note how precariously
we can balance our lives
on each other's knives,

And so invariably
the air's perfectly still,
pregnant with chill
tonight.

Daniel M. Dobkin

 

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