Detatch

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I can still feel
the ghost of your mouth
on my face,
the remaining impression
of a midnight kiss,
tongue sliding across my gums
lips pressed together
like we were afraid
of letting air escape.

And now it’s dark
and I’m alone
and I can still feel that kiss
like the valley of a couch
worn by the same sitting man
every day the same spot
a groove in the polyester
THAT is how the kiss feels on my face–
like the reflection in a carnival mirror
or a hole in the atmosphere.






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