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A Drip-Dry Memory
Your hands linger now as prints upon my mind.
I became a glove for your love.
I gave you my tongue
so you could speak a moment of ecstasy.
You gave me Cauliflower Cheese,
the only meal you could cook.
Then when you were done
with my squishy love,
you left on a bus, never to return.
That was back then
when cakes were left out in the rain,
when poets wore bell-bottoms.
I recall it rained for days
in our love-stained apartment.
The mattress survived,
but all too soon,
it forgot how to talk
like you used to.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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