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Poem: February Sixth


You rarely come by
to this place of me;
peruse memories,
digitally etched
in silicon stone.

Thoughtlessly you read.
The words distracting
you from the meaning
buried deep inside
my rhythm and rhyme.

I see your traces
in all the places
you touch as you pass.
Fingerprints on glass;
shredded photographs.

You never stay long.
I feel I’ve done wrong
when you run away
and won’t even say
why you could’t stay.

These words I borrow:
‘Parting sweet sorrow’
fills my every hour,
drives me to despair;
life is so unfair!

When will you return?
When will you?
When will?
When?
?
.

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