My Strangers

The path turns through cities and nighttimes and days
And footsteps echo whenever I’m alone and trying to sleep.
Your faces all untainted and beyond the simple touch
Of skin or features or my sight through the rain and the sun.
How is it that the thorn blossoms into something unbearably
Beautiful, when once I felt it slicing through my bones, thought
This might sever all my chances, one by one, throwing kites
To the wind, strings all and drifting further and further into grey?
Dig deeper into loneliness and the wounds are uncovered
Never quite healed, always open to suggestions and confessions
And the trigger of softness and I suppose that burning simple
Necessity that means desire. I know that you’ll go on, you’ll go
Down these paths, through jungles and forests and wide fields,
Down all the roads I once thought I might tread, sharing footprints,
To the rivers you cannot cross, and the mouth of a dark sea.
I know one day you’ll close your eyes and sleep without me.

by Fleur Jones

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