Coptic lines written on the feathers of angels,
Love letters not burned in the fires we set for each other
We remain inches in distance,
but lifetimes apart.
Skewed moments and memories creep back into the room we just left.
I am haunted by your love that I still feel deep where you left it,
inside my soul.
I find that Nowhere is there a place to hide.
We are still connected,
and two different cars exactly like yours in rapid succession always means we will see each other,
that very day.
You pretend me a stranger, and deny me twice,
as if we’d never been in love at all, or even met.
And sometimes when I’m alone at night, I wish that were still truth.
If I believed in betrayal, I might have accused you of it;
you went missing like a child on a milk carton.
Her Two Cents
This is the second in a series of poetry that was posted to the sleepy Baton Rouge feed several weeks ago. All written by the same person? Perhaps… perhaps not. One anonymous message made an authorship claim, but as LarryBobSF’s investigation of this street art photo illustrates, just because it exists doesn’t mean it’s real.