** This poem is, in my humble opinion, not very good **
I feel I'm wading through a desert
At the bottom of a glass
While the future rains without reprieve
To bury me in our past
I struggle to find purchase on
A slope that just keeps rising
A mountain range of distance
To set between our two horizons
I hold on tight but all I grasp
Keeps slipping through my fingers
So I seek to pin it down with words
But summon only ghosts and whispers
As I fumble lines my throat recalls
Sand has this certain way
Of stilling tongues and stealing things
I'd never meant to say
Because I'm worried how you'll take it
If I land close to what I mean
As the streaming granules slow
I worry how you'll take it when you leave
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