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another page on the floor

For how much of you, incomplete
     I find buried in my drawers
I am convinced that for each
     unmatched sock
its partner lost forever
you've found your-self
with all my other halves

a page discarded in the fiction section, scribbled in pencil, of course, and having something to tell, something about us, something about them, something about nobody, folded and left between pages for another day

We spent too many days
with our clothes mapping
     the surface 
of our bedroom floors
to let each other complete
our daily wardrobes
without a reminder
of what's been lost forever

I have spent years
emptying myself like a closet
this old skeleton, my body

I no longer compulse, a fit
of voices speaking to
      your ghost

where does it start, where does it go, turning over a new leaf another song is taken down for future reference

have purged the lifetime of
      I love you's from the
      corner of my gut

and yet even the most simple
     routines remain
a puzzle, never finished
with those few pieces you've

and I can't even remember
how the picture looked before
so changed I keep changing
your unholy name such a curse
even once removed or displaced

The length of time I loved you
has passed once more and still
remains unmatched

unread perhaps, but found, found, found... 

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