The Spotting

The sight of you is a dead nerve,

No longer a jolt,

A pulse,

An fiberoptic memory bleaching the rest of my day.

You are an observation now—a flicker, a moment. 

Your name no longer rushes to the surface of my tongue. Sometimes I forget us all together.

But never the feeling when my forehead pressed against yours. Fingers laced together, a gate to the universe between us. Those exhales made a whole language, a truth AJ don’t doubt even now. That gold you gave me never dulls.

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