If found, please return

I reached for our divide,

where moments become endeavors,

endeavors subtly tucked

beneath the wet planets of our eyes.

 

Endeavors spread like spider webs between

the dark silhouettes of our haunted rooms.

 

Endeavors owed to her from many a long night

sprung with passion and stored fingerprints.

 

an endeavor of tongues

clicking and clucking

in delicate mouths

 

Endeavors that hurt far worse than anything now,

so I wrote it out, as a poem for her to keep around.

 

Endeavors, in poem-form, will remain, damp somehow,

gummed to every leaning wall, every resting breath.

 

I reached for our divide,

where endeavors become lonely things,

lonely, but still kept, somewhere,

someplace, beneath the dust of our shared days.

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