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by Abigail Sire about a month ago in surreal poetry
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Laugh with Me

(Washington Post - photo by J. Lester Feder)

They weren’t good dancers

But swayed and careened and fell in each other’s arms -

Laughing, cackling her freshly manicured nails digging into his suit -

Her painted eyebrows angled in a joyous anguish – laugh with me -

They said – lie to me they said because

At least the laughter wasn’t silence -

The laughter wasn’t what was going to be said later

In private – the end – snuffed out like a blackened, curling wick

Snagged artfully – a single strand in the fabric

Never the same again – a harsh word

A forgotten truth shared than thrown back

In the fantasy’s face – never the same again.

surreal poetry

About the author

Abigail Sire

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