It’s erasable
in case she changes her mind later,
decides she’d rather curbstomp her
black boot scuffs all across his walk
instead.
It’s from the heart
in case she decides to leave it, give
her soul this soft reprieve. Let go
and let the breeze carry her words
away.
It’s along the side
of the house, where no one else
will see – just between him and me,
she thinks, and slinks on back to
bed.
..
In November, we poem.
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