You'll Miss the Ones Who Understand
It’s the ones who really
understand
you’ll miss when they
leave,
slip your grasp, take your
hand;
you fold. How they touched
your soul,
gazed into looking glasses
there,
stealing little, not much,
but enough.
If you ask for it back,
you’re rebuffed
of course, unwilling to
exchange
one rare diamond for
another taken,
something that you
treasure with grief,
neither of you were the
first thief,
or at least, that’s how
the story goes.
A touch you both possessed
for a while,
traced fingers around a
leaving smile
that was already gone,
swallowed
long by tunnels, buried
deep in hollows.
It will clutch you forever,
taking hold
as firmaments cool and
suns grow cold.
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