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Foliage, 2021

How would it feel to be caressed in your mind

as much as you’re held in my memory? 


 On what was incomplete.

Fracturing the wings of what was never.


I miss you.

Still. I Paint over wounds,

 knowing what to ignore,  

As you were never to be opened but desired. 

Glide your hair on my open chest connecting every coil to every vein.


I ache,

but flesh feels every bit of desire fulfilled. 

You were there.

I was blind.

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