In the aftermath of the coup (a poem)

This started out as a shadorma, but I couldn’t make it work—dreams are funny that way…

You led me through the hollowed-out maze of stairs
away from the surveillance cameras outside
into safe chambers
before the tanks rolled through town

I kissed you well before the bomb exploded
we hid under the covers
“Fuck fuck fuck…” you cried
as the winds howled overhead

That was where we lost each other
I ran through empty streets
dodging army spies
doing my best to find you

I came back to dusty photos
silence in empty rooms
no sign that you had been back
no message, no code

Your disguise is now so complete
nothing will bring you back
and no amount of dreaming
will shake the feeling

That you may not want to be found

(9 October 2016—posted October 11th)

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