you’re silver-skinned and
everything else is colorlessness.
i never wrote to that pale-faced boy
again. but he still thinks of me-
a watermark on the left side
of the bed. the last face to
see each night. and his mouth
is the perfect red of a kiss
even now, when your moon is
an inversion, eyeing with fear
her cratered face as clouds crash
like waves. yes, our seas have long drowned.
we did leave each other no trace.
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