Gone
I imagine your young face
melting into the same sculpted mess
most faces of our generation do.
Are you relieved
that you did not survive?
I put my tongue hard into my cheek
forcing my features into your smile.
Ridiculous how love can change clay
into immortal trivia.
I imagine your hair,
envisioning every lock of hair is tricky.
I still want you,
stupid girl.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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