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to make me teary –
these solitary lines
where names fall sweet
before the hurting starts
I’ve begged
forget me –
let the souvenirs
be burned
and yet I know
I can’t reclaim my heart

tis crushed
into the circles
where’re your fingers touch
and ground into the webs
around your eyes
inked into a memory
of ten thousand yesterdays
golden as our last
the first sunrise

smoke rings
mark an evening red
with the scent
of winter hay
I locked the gate
but pray you took your key
folded with a promise
and tucked inside your shirt
familiar as the path
come back to me

. . .