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Iamthis

leave behind
your sweater
to remember me
your skin
the warmth
of sunday mornings
til I die

the grace of sunlight
splintered
in patchwork destinies
now and then
the thought
still gets me high

leave behind
your verses
were written just for me
as promise of another
tender time

words of consolation
to hold against my heart
cursive to recall
a sweeter rhyme

. . .