Juxtaposition

Her vapid look replaces fire.

Clammy hands. Stumbles. Sterile lulls.

Juxtaposing.

 –

His illicit mutter of ecstacy.

Those ican’tgetenough

Bites.

Those icouldneverexistwithoutwantingyou

Those ineedyousomuchit

Burns

Those whatifhedoesn’tseehowperfectwecouldbe

Together

Pausing.

That moment I know

to hold her.

So I do it.

To be polite. To seem sincere.

(You can’t be rude when she’s lying right there.)

Realizing.

Gut retching fear

When a dayandahalfhaspassed

since his

Last word. Last breath.

I hate

But I crave

Every moment of uncertainty.

Ache to know what he

Thinks.

And sees

in us. (Is it what you see in him?)

Is it the way pulses catch just thinking his name?

Then.

Her simplicity.

The mirror in which I glimpse

A piece of myself.

It’s in her face.

I find the unbroken memory of myself. The me

I could have been if life hadn’t drowned hope and left

it gasping for air in the front seat of a pickup truck.

Lied. Abandoned. Disregarded.

Her grace and sensible smile.

That sickly sweet touch and soft voice.

Guides that kiss goodbye.

Shutting the door.

Sinking to the floor.

Remembering the fire of believing.

The combustion of combining.

The life. The unrefined

irreverent beauty created

By the needing. The wanting.

By every ounce of his imperfection.

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