canvas metaphors
i miss her
the body is as bold as ever
but the eyes
the eyes:
they are empty sockets
unable to heal
it’s christian zeal
that keeps the razor from her wrist
only barely
yet:
barely is enough
when
the heart is collapsed
the soul is stopped
the blood is curdled
but i miss her
and have seen your longing
locked forever into canvas metaphors
you shove beneath your bed
and stack
pile upon pile
in the corners of your different life
so we miss her
how we do miss her:
the poetry she kept in cupboards
for rainy days and rainy friends
the tears shed in buckets
for me, you, god’s children and debbie lee
the lust that moved her to seek
a reflection
that would make the need for the razor
obsolete
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