Soul Love
Those who habitually wear
worn down shoes,
reckon there’s still some
life in the old uppers yet,
here’s a lick of black
polish to cover any perish
and those aren’t holes,
they’re lived in soles.
I hear you; I still
believe, I am one of those
reluctant to let go, but
she loves me, you know?
She replaces older dreams,
like changing channels
or interrupting you at
least, coalescing from static
into potential, kinetic,
something like charismatic,
her smile is only soul
love. And the truth is, dear,
you changed your shoes
long before I thought
to stop window shopping.
You let me fall long ago,
cut cobbled stitches and
let love’s true soul grow.
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