I admit I miss those small hands.
The freckle on his chin.
I'll even admit to missing
that awful band tee.
I snatch at the details,
closing my eyes to remember.
His tattered belt and his horse laugh.
The smile he gave
just for me.
Time wore on
and Change put her dirty hands in our business
Then there were the bags
under his eyes.
Blood seeped through the paper,
betraying him.
His waist too small,
his bones sharp knives,
cutting us both in two.
My kisses could not heal his starving lips,
My tears fell on festering wounds.
I didn't realize the conclusion would be
that I'm just as tattered and as worn
as his belt was.
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