Suspension

There is weight in stopping:
wait, and the word stands
turning. In a spell,
tell me you wanted this.
Or else this isn’t different
than traffic, tires on asphalt.
A suspended vertigo
along with cars, unmoving,
removing itself by footsteps,
which by the way I haven’t taken
constantly lying in wait.
You never once noticed
the gazes heavy with judgment
and shield your face with mine. Wait.

22 June 2012
with Kat Rodriguez

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