Silicone cookies make sad memories of you. Like human tissue out of color, something loosened
away from real breasts once you held tightly in love; now a dull object, out of your breath and tongue.
“Let’s just fake it,” as we are not each other’s anymore, like robot apps that asks, “How are you doing?”
Sorrow grips in the afternoons, like suns fading away and hiding… And I, still, would ask you, “When will you come back?”
rosevoc2. 1.17.2012. on a Thursday
You called away from home, those serene nights of…
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