Emotional Hail Mary’s

All too often, I am the recipient of posthumous affection–
An affirmation arriving way too late.
They are not love letters but obituaries,
More eulogy than sonnet.
“I love you”s are ghost stories to my ears.
They don’t understand how their words don’t adorn me—
They collect dust in a moseleum.
I want a love with as much life as I have,
With a pulse
And sweat,
And better timing.

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