Black seeps through white,
veil parted enough to lament
no parting dialogue to dwell upon.
Ties have been tossed aside
with no regard for the tactless imagery.
Soil-stained soles trod on,
anxiety lying in wait
beneath salty palms.
Aged wooden handles beckon,
discarded to the grass.
No stairs are welcome here.
Eyes closed,
all is left behind with descension.
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