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December
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December by F.W. Morris

escalatorlg.jpg
mutter

Baltimore

Her kiss trembled
as December crashed  
against the airport's plate-glass.

Her brown eyes shuttered
as she descended the escalator.  Outside
wind splashed through stuffed parking lots.

(Flight 367 now boarding)

I watched from the departure floor
as she mouthed my name, the cab idled,

her door slammed inside my chest.

(Final boarding call, flight 367)

Twenty years later, I still taste her kiss in the cold, feel 
her exposed to the gray wet of Baltimore--
December crashing all around.