The Last Poem
The longing memory of the man
I irrevocably love/
beholds me wherever I go,
every street is a strap
every alley hides a ghost that
spangs at me like a jumping jack
I whimper, hold me.
Hold me one last time before I
lie in the bedroom and
wake up every morning with
curtains drawn and nothingness washing over me
like a lethargic wave
Hold me one last time before I
die and dive through the earth,
like a mermaid of the soil
to be next to your bones
Hold me one last time before I
leave the city
lie down crawling my way to the edge
lean over the abyss
and become the last poem in the world
Hold me one last time
or read me, written as the last poem in the world
I am leaving the city before
the city leaves me
Hold me, hold me one last time.
Bio: Short Bio:
Vinita is a creative writer, her unique flair for writing reveals a mind, and is persuasively poetic. The invincibly capable finds peace in her solitude and coffee. Imperfections fascinate her. Uncertainties she embraces. The eternal seeker within the human condition is constantly on a discovery unveiled through her writing. Self-acceptance, her trademark, is so refreshingly robust that oftentimes leaves people with whoops of admiration for her freedom of thought. Using her stumbling block as a stepping stone is what sets her as a prime example of grace under pressure.
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