My loved

9 May

she was

eyes, a nose,

a pair of hands sketched with star tattoos

a place of soft resting,

for the road is lonely

 

she schooled me

on sex and noir films

smoked Gauloises

and laughed like cool water

on hundred degree days

 

I joked she ate too much salt

would raise her blood pressure

and I was worried

but

it gave me excuse to listen to her heart

and be grateful for it’s beating

 

we made snow angels

when it was 40 below

and I thought we’d die frozen

curled around one another

the wind frosting our bodies covered in white

 

slender frame

but always surprised me by her weight

“I keep the hate inside, it makes me stout”

 

like dreams and sunrise gods

she would fade into nothing

“It’s not that I don’t love you

I don’t love anybody”

 

no more curls

to grab fistfulls of dark brown

bury my face through to her neck

 

I see her once every few years

she catches my eye in smile

and lets me know

she once was real

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9 May

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