Do you think about my skin?
When I’m gone, I mean
or even when I am there
counting every freckle, every scar, every hair
or am I still alone
in my perpetual visual dissection
of eyelashes, of clothes, every intonation
every second I think you might look back
when we are done
I am sure still that you do not
so for now, dear, nor do I



Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “91.

  1. Marianne, this is so beautiful. You made me cry. Thank you.

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