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No Such Thing

you told me “no, darling,”
as you twirled my hair between
index and thumb finger,
all the while writing
december 13th on the calendar
to remember for the rest of
our wandering

you bought me an iron horse
the width of my wrist.
Told me that instead of coming
in a suit of armor on a white steed
you were coming dressed in white
with your armor in my palm

I thought it was
a grand romantic gesture
because you could never leave
with your ride home in the center of
my hands

and so often I'd find you searching
through my bedsheets for the socks
I always lose in the depths of the night
and you'd laugh when you'd find
that there were more pairs than one.

In the mornings I remember
catching you breathing into my
pillow case
you said you didn't want to forget
the little things

and the little things included
tying my shoe laces in bows and
tying bows into my laces

and on the nights when the moon
rose far higher than we did,
we'd stand on the balcony
and wish achingly
that we were stars--
just balls of rock particles
ground into moon dust,
kissing each other goodbye in
the gusts of the wind.



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