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  • To the wasted days
    When nothing new was thought of and no muscle was stretched
    Hands idle, conversation minimal at best
    Twisted sheets coiled around every limb
    Upon sitting up, the pillow remains a fossil of our heavy heads
    And the soft mattress sags for a few more minutes
    To honor the shape of our bodies
    Like Pompeii ash casings

    To the raucous nights
    When our minds fizzed with drink and dancing
    Skin moist, cheeks aching, jaw unhinged
    Dirt caked under every fingernail, black crescent moons
    That I’ll pick at the next day, flick to the side
    As we peel the night off our bodies, eyes still glittering
    And mouths still dry

    To the glory moments
    When life came screeching to a halt and embraced us
    Long aisles and shiny smiles, how should I tilt the cap?
    White gloves fluttering like doves, one shared vision
    Something beautiful about the predictable and the cliché
    Wanting everything to be just like they said it would be
    And nothing more
    It never meant the same to you
    But I think, one day, you’ll agree

    To the conflict
    Something we never had much of
    Something I tried to imbue, instill, infect us with
    Because without conflict, there is no plot
    And without plot, there is no story
    I was always desperate to have something make my skin crawl
    To have skinned knees and bruised bones
    To shield my face with my arms while shards of glass fly around me
    To feel the quickening panic of loss
    Only to work things out and resolve it all
    We never had much opportunity for this
    But maybe there’s a reason for that

    To the almosts
    When, thick with the night, you discovered me
    And we shared baklava on an outdoor patio
    The drive home was wistful, on edge
    The goodbye was unsatisfying
    We were probably both to blame
    Then again, in stifling heat, we were side by side
    Imitating foreign accents, hearts leaping and alive
    Until the feverish weight of the air was too much
    And I stumbled, and the moment was gone

    To the fire
    That tug inside the chest, the prickling of tears
    The addictive effect of skin on skin, electric nerve endings
    Fingers laced with locks of your hair
    Like slipping on gloves meant only for me
    The shock and the calm
    Senses converge, until nothing is left
    We are the same person
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