Loneliness does not preclude isolation
it inhabits the mind, moving in and evicting words that serve no purpose,
gnawing at a soul, that once danced on asphalt
and swallowed moonbeams from an unsuspecting midnight.
Loneliness stokes the ashes of memories burnt
in thoughts exhumed and graveyards entombed,
as my head swells in sepia
tea-tinged photographs vintaged like fine wine pouring tears
as sweet as an executioner’s reprieve.
Loneliness silently stalks starry nights
and fills an empty glass with spilled decanters
like vacancies of the heart
and poetry more sublime than the lightness of the dark.
© Connie Song 2020. All Rights Reserved.
