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Reminded That I Am

I can still recall your face

I can still recall your face.

I even have a piece of that look you gave me

the time I tried the macho pose

on the edge of the bed.

Or was it when we went to the arboretum

and I used my fakey british accent on the boys by the pond?

 

I carry it around everywhere

and somehow it never gets frayed

or creased in that ‘carried in the pocket’ sort of way.

 

I prefer it to the withered

and comatose eyes

with which you left me.

Or the barrier of sadistic machinery

that hopelessly imposed life on you.

 

When I look at it

I am reduced at once to a lonely

little boy, juxtaposed with solitude

on an faded asphalt matt.

 

And then somehow renewed

and reminded that I am

someone who was once loved by you.

 



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