It’s Not That


It's not that romantic,
White toilet paper streaming through the air
against a black sky, landing with a soft
thud

It's not that romantic,
lying in a fallow field,
silent, surprised by shooting stars that come in
fours.

It's not that romantic,
a silo silhouetted against a sunset
the village gathered in the gymnasium on
Friday.

It's not that romantic
this cord stretched over miles
taut, never
giving
way.

Cut the cord.
Follow it back.
It's not that romantic, this holding on.

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