ache

By Jennifer Jenkins

stumbling through
nights
of hope
waiting on the stars

I reached
for the breeze where
minstrels tease
and whisper nothings
sweet
while I made love
to impulsive winds
with prickled skin

the same
fickle pigeons
scattered
when a branch
cracked the glass
around my gin
and I slipped
on a dream

the sky belched
breathed its cold
through the holes
of your shirt

and I fell.

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