Vestiges

Traces of you are yet treasured-
your eyelashes on my cheek,
tenellous breath of moth wings
your fingers sliding on my skin in lissome strokes,
painterly strides of color
and the warm penumbra in which we slept,
your heart against my breast

All this romanticizing, and yet I cannot pretend
to feel anything
but nihilistic adoration
for transient glances of love.

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4 thoughts on “Vestiges

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