by Amy Soricelli
I would leave bits of you like bird footprints in the snow -
I would leave you on the side of the road of me -
on the end of the couch, dangling on the folds from the constant weight.
I would follow your eyes like those weird spook-house paintings
and you would pop up behind doors - claws out.
You frightened the light out of the sunshine/the white off the snow.
You stick to me like paper on my shoe; I shake and shake
but it flies back like sand.
You're the hair whipped into my eyes -the last bug on the windshield.
You said to me - you said...
"listen to these songs of love. they are heartbreak songs".
The words disappeared like black smoke.
I waved them away with my hand
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