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War in a Pocket
Yesterday,
It was cold.
for the first time since last Winter.
I put on my jacket,
my best heavy coat.
slipped my hands into the pockets,
felt wads of tissue.
Stiff with salt.
I cried when I had to leave,
stuffed my pockets with sponges for sorrow.
kept some dry ones in the sleeve.
I walked away,
weighed down by the Atlantic,
Romantic antics, stop.
Gigantic semantic
Stop.
Found the lip balm,
tinged my taste all November.
Remember?
I reapply,
longing for
some Hiroshima shadow of your lips.
vaporized silhouette
more powerful than memory.
I frown.
Insufficient for my craving,
but what isn't?
I don't know,
you know I always say that.
I'll spin another lyric for you,
out of the cobwebs of what memory I have left.
if that's what it takes
to make a ghost human again.
I press my tongue to the adhesive,
hoping you'll know,
hoping you'll feel that I was there.
I want better for you than there is for me.
I don't remember a taste.
I don't remember a touch.
I don't remember a smell.
It was only November..
Remember,
my memory has been dismembered.
Now a pile of glowing ember.
I want a bit of oxygen,
to make them flare up again.