Poetry

Ghost image

I’ve been thinking,

time and time again,

about the way your face

imprints on me

like those things

with blunt metal pins

that you press into

and they take

the shape of your hand,

only changing if you choose

to erase it.

I can’t erase you.

You’re here with me

whether you like it

or not,

even though

we may never meet again.

Perhaps it’s just

that I don’t want to forget.

Perhaps it’s something more.

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