REVELATION
i stand upon the bridge of the Erie Canal, gazing into its half—frozen creek, where sunrise softens, through early morning fog, while i wade through this mist, adrift; wondering if i am dead, and just don't know it— where i hear many voices of ghosts that float around me; dustings of snow, kicked up by howling winds, carried in by a cold front; i blow on my naked hands, trying to warm them up, and i was just thinking, that i would give almost anything, to have you back, walking beside me, again; my arm around your waist, and your hand, warm-cupped inside my back jeans pocket; the air between us flickering— with endless kisses, yet to come
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