Thursday, August 6, 2020

#36: Spring Cleaning

May whatever Gods you believe 
In bless the forgetfulness that has
Let me live through this year
And the one before that
And maybe the last one, too, I forget

The shape of your smile, and your voice
Has lost its sweet saccharine- I hear

Old addictions seem repulsive after a while.
34, feels like 43, in degrees
26, feels like I should have held on to

Semblances of happiness that we were allowed to imitate
Are all forgotten, I clear out
Shelf after shelf of space 
In memories, in memoriam.

You were nice, mister-i-forget-your-face.
It must have been nicer to leave that day, I suppose. 

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