by ter20

I should forget about you (I think), forget
writing about you, forget
remembering you.

But how can I, when the
sun falls like your
kisses on my cheeks; when
poems speak to me with your
mouth.

How can I forget you, when the
pen entwines my fingers and all I can think about are your
hands.

Those beautiful hands.
You planted a memory when those hands
plowed through my hair.

And those memories-
They have grown, my love, grown
beautiful and I wish you were here to water them, to
touch them.

We would touch them my love,
and when we do, I hope
love touches us back.

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