365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and One

can’t use my conditioner.
without thinking of you.

a haunting.
suppose it’s the right time of year.

the last place became unbearable.
you were everywhere.

here, it is more a flashback.
constant highlights of dawn.

moving on, the steps are heavy.
not too proud to beg, but it is futile.

memory shudders and stirs.
one barely sane day to the next.

this shelter is cold.
empty of your words.

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About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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