Poetry: Wound

One of those rare dates with poker faces
I wondered who was that sexy stranger 
We held warm hands with cold feet
As we looked into our eyes for danger

Coffee stained kisses shows that he misses
The delay before the cigarette wave goodbye
There is no laughter for misunderstood jokes
The lack of color leaves us dry

I cannot see the damage to his spinal cord
The scar on his heart is more visible
We are barely healing like fresh open wounds
Time and pain remain indivisible 

I was long gone before we were leaving
Then I went back to the last place we lied
I tried to scrub away the smell of us
But it came anew when washed and undried 

 

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