(Pure idle melancholy and nothing more).
Today’s Tuesday sun is butterscotch
a creamy brightness, eager
to rinse away the dew soaked dawn.
Here we sit like executioners preparing to lynch
the only thing hanging, the silence
perfectly executed by us both.
This suspense, determined as we watch our lives expire
holding loving hands,
our wishes stuffed into manilla envelopes
bribes to our inheritance.
© Graham Sherwood 7/2011
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