Adam
it’s me, texting
you on the eve
of our ex-
anniversary.
God it feels like
yesterday that
we were coming
apart at the seams
but it’s been years
and I’m still lying
here under the influence
of dead-end memories.
Tell me, do you
ever feel exposed
knowing that I know
what you look like naked
and sad? Do you ever
wish for fig leaves,
for a way to cover up
the past, a way to go
back, to get extra
time in the garden
when loving each other
was ripe with possibility?
Tell me, do you ever
feel me in your bones
removing one rib
at a time, worming
my way back in?
Or is our history
just that, a bruised
piece of fruit, too rotten
to salvage.
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