The other woman

I spoke to the other woman

in the field where grass blades bend,

watched her lips form around vowels

that had nothing to do with us,

splinters flying off bark of the puzzle piece tree,

long stemmed words flipping small green seeds

not yet ripe

back and forth on the cliffs above the gulley

“He loves me , he loves me not”

(He didn’t love her but I don’t think he loved me either)

hard strained wind in our breaths pushing hair into each other’s eyes

forcing us to listen to your voice slithering in the grass


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