But what of love?

Love?
I cannot tell you much of it
but that you feel you’ll starve
without.

You won’t.

The pressure of one more goodbye kiss
will not bend your bones. You will flower
again, and spring will push geraniums
into the space evacuated
by that last look before the rain
fell and fell and never seemed
to stop.

There is sun in the cracks
left by the final fight.
Look beyond the aching holes.
You are whole without
those lips.

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