untitled poem 1

All the words you used
to want from me
no longer matter.

As I revise for the present
tense, try to forget your eyes
or the way your smile spills
like a glass of wine.

I will wait
for the syllables
“I’m sorry” to dissolve on my tongue
like a communion wafer
as if forgiveness were such a simple act.

Tim Lepczyk

Writer, Technologist, and Librarian.

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