Poetry by: Oz Longworth

Don’t Dream It’s Over

It’s been too

soon since yesterday

for me to miss

it so much

Too soon

since laughter

to be writing Dear Jane letters

to the pursuit of happiness

as though it’s too

far out the door

to hear me calling out to

it in quatrains

In the house that resilience


we burn white flags and

slow dance by the fire

We live like it’s meant

to last

but we don’t dream

it’s over

Death Poem

My rekindled fling

with the city beneath my feet

is but a teenage love

just a daredevil flame

held hostage with a matchstick

compared to the love I carry with me

Missing you like this


in life

leaves me longing

for our future

I can’t wait

to grow gray with you

I could build our sanctuary

if all the ways

I miss you

could be molded into brick and mortar

and we could be just us

until our skin doesn’t last any longer

until “Death do us part”

is a punchline

until days are just abstract thoughts

and we are just skeleton lovers

whispering sweet nothings

with the morse code of our bones

deciphering lullabies

rattling one another to sleep

until my affair

with the City of God

beneath my feet is just

an afterlife teenage love

compared to the death poem

we wrote together

Almost (She Coulda Been)

She coulda been
Soul Sista number one
Coulda hung the butterfly flutters of my
heart across rain soaked locks
of her ‘fro like a Christmas tree
with the gift of delicious discussion

Time coulda slept in
with the way minutes
seemed to procrastinate
as though
our words were
fresh friction beneath their feet

coulda been djs
restless from stale same ol’ soliloquies
They started spinning intellectual
Mastermixes of conversation
That found courage to sail
In search of kindred frequencies

Six contortionist lifetimes
of daydreams
fit so comfortably into six minutes
they brought blankets
and pillows
just to lay and listen to us
pussyfoot around tension

Except now
me and time aren’t
exactly on speaking terms
since I let her get away
without the number

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