I

Poetry
Still smoking? Not surprised.  
I hate cigarettes but love them 
on your lips and your long fingers  
around my neck, between my legs, 
isn’t something I miss.  
 
The only time I’ve seen you is when 
my mind mistakes you somewhere, where  
you cross the shadows of dunes mound 
with salty ruins of your resemblance.  
 
After you left, it took me 
months to find my way  
around me again. 
 
Remember when we would stay 
up until sunrise, talking shit?  
 
I don’t. 

2 thoughts on “I

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