Sunday, November 3, 2013

I can't remember what colour your eyes were
just the feel
of your hand at my back

the hum of the furnace
and the curve of your jaw

I hope they aren't all bad
your memories of me
I know my flaws and how they scraped your skin

like nails sharper than my own
more passionately employed
down your precious back

but I hope they aren't all bad
those memories
of me


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