Shaped Like Her

The poet in the corner booth
Cast in yellow mid day rays
Stirs his cup and stares through the room
A scarred cold wisdom on his face

Feeling every summer bead
And every winter gust
A memory like a present friend
A moment starts and doesn’t end

The scented oils and the simple meals
The bee that stung his hand
Painting walls into the night
And sleeping where she stands

The warmth beneath his bed-sheet
Has dropped by ten degrees
The tears behind his sunken eyes
The loss of hands and knees

All is like a drama now
A stage show out of reach
Nothing feels as if it’s real
OK to break. OK to steal.

She danced inside his very core
She ripped and thrashed and kissed and tore
Her silhouette punched out a hole
He’s shaped like her inside his soul

The poet sits a heap of ash
And longs into the busy room
“Someone take my mind away
Not right now, but very soon."

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