To Wither by Degrees Steven Denehan

Memories teeter
on a volcanos edge
waiting for a gentle breeze

His skin, creased
soft folds deepening
as we talk
of nothing
and everything

My love, a boundless love
rushes in to fill
these empty spaces

A day is coming
I can hear it,
a distant marching band,
when only
my love
will remain

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