I've never had the need
to ensconce myself
in smell;
in scent
most brown-pearlescent--
until You;
until
(the advent of)
You.
But there is very little
that is advantageous
about your absence.
Now I sit here, removed
from every memory
(or singular moment)
which has any
singular
thing to do with you
or your absence
or your love
or your presence
or your ill-expressed
and ever-forgotten
Essence.
I remember the way we used to laugh.
I remember the nights we spent--
locked in one another's arms,
or apart
(but always touching,
caressing,
loving).
I remember how good it always used to be.
And I know it's so much better now;
I know you were wholly
wrong for me.
You are not the Shining Knight;
you ride
no white steed.
You are a boy;
you fear;
you're weak.
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