I do not know her anymore

I once played cymbals in her honor

I learned percussion to
for the beats she made me skip

after eight months
I loved her body
although she was
deficient in attendance
I thought if I held it
like I did in my memory
her reality would grow
out from my palms
that my palms were seeds
and her hair would
be branches
but I am not strong enough
to father roots
or nuture a love
that was between me and
a person who
grew into a habit



(Addictions poem from the perspective of the lover of the addict)

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