This Place

This is where we last spoke
when we last spoke
the last time
you let me in your presence.

This is the alley
and these are the seats
where we sat
talking idly,
quietly, trying to find words
other than goodbye
though that was all
there was really left to say.

That is the lamp
now broken
that then successfully reflected
a single salty tear
off of my face
or so you said.
I still suspect it was sweat.

But really it was windy
because what else
could explain the shivering
and your need to put arms around me
for hours
in this alley
as we waited
for your train
to take you away
until this very day.

It will be good
to see you again
if you ever can
come back

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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