The Regression

Do we run so cold
that the both of us
can’t even relate to a song
in the way that we once did.

Where once we held
each others hand
complained about
the singer’s sniveling smile
and in the darkest of hours
admitted our infatuations.

Is this
the regression
we both feared?

Some patient scavenger
a great black-feathered vulture
with its wind-beaten white neck
heckling
with the slightest grunt of a noise
waiting for us to
stumble across
a well-traveled
landscape of exhaustive desolation
collapse
and become its new
most-interesting-thing.

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