Return - Poem by Uriah Hamilton
I used to only write about love,
perfume and bracelets
on thin wrists,
about seeing a woman's eyes
no matter the distance between us;
but now, the only moonlight I find
caresses broken concrete
in a cold city or the cemetery stones
of those I wish I could see.
The dead don't return,
Sidra, I don't think I'll return.
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