For You – N. E. Skull

poetry by skull

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I don’t want to write about him.

He doesn’t inspire me like you used to.

There were sonnets in the arch of your back.

Your lips have been written about a thousand times before.

Damocles’ blade was in your shoulder,

And Samson in your hair.

If you are a painting,

He is negative space.

In him, I see only your absence.

In me, he sees it, too.

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