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One Word 2



From the shadows my eyes lick at you like a tongue,
your memory form half-dissolved by saliva-tears.
Still, I long for your taste.  Still, I long to tell you
I long for your taste.  This life that I live,
from which you banished yourself in the time before
the time before the time, is even less than I guessed
it would be.  Even imagining it gave it more
substance, more mass than it has.
It is like a breeze that almost moves a hair on my arm.
It is like a single raindrop that falls from a dark sky,
missing me.  It is like every film I ever saw
condensed to one still frame, every song I ever heard
reduced to one note.  It is like one word
saved from all the poems I ever wrote.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.