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Escort via hurse

by Timothy Wilson

The long cadalac's trunk of discarded cargo
I'm pulled by the friction below me
In a box with thin padding
Seemingly a very uncomfortable final resting place
but the red velvet feels good against my cold body
The weeping mourning masses of loved ones passed
Hating to see me go
but contradicting themselves by helping to throw the dirt
I was dying to see this day
And now all I see is black oblivion
behind the netted vail I could imagine the tears
the sobbing face attached to hands reaching out for nothing in return
but quite to my surprise she removed it over me
and winked with a smile
I knew it was her...

06/01/2009

Posted on 06/01/2009
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Wilson

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