Eliza Platt / Woodford County
sun setting over the distant farm land,
this was when she was most familiar to me.
her scent still erupted through the air,
the last swish of her dress still hung on my ears.
i could feel her, a bad dream in depths of the night.
hands shaky and deliberate.
she made it seem as though i was never hers to hold anyway.
in the morning,
her body vanished with the taste of honeysuckle and cheap beer.
i racked my mind for a semblance of regret.
i found nothing but last kisses and the imprint of her left hand on my waist.
now, i only see her in the morning
when the fog settles on my roof and morning dew forms upon the spiderwebs.
the gentle breeze blows the hair from her neck as my curtains billow around the new day.
she is soft to the touch and nearly impossible to keep hold of
i sometimes wish to be more like her.
she is the dream i don't wish to wake from.
but i wake up anyway,
colder than i was the night before,
and i begin to wonder if she were ever really mine in the first place.