The Voice on Your End

I have never seen your (I suppose they are brown) eyes fire upon recognition,

Never seen what your face looks like when it’s on to something,

When the ideas keep lighting up like heat lightening in the clouded distance and

All you can do is rush to the end and,

I look for you all the places I know you have never ventured,

In tea rooms and with gauzy women and men shadowed around your name,

People I will never meet.

When will you admit to yourself that all of this,

It was just time looping in on itself.

You saw something here but then again you have never been here.

One thought on “The Voice on Your End”

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