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Always the last one

watching others leave

to smiles and open arms;

hollow slams, velvet purr

lost to the crunch of gravel.


Is it because you forget?

Am I the last thing on your mind?


High in the bowl of a sky

midnight feathers flap as

leaves tumble at my feet –

their crackled whisper

louder than me.

Photo from: http://amber-beautifulrubbish.blogspot.ie/2012_11_01_archive.html#.UNYGsaDDWjc