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I woke
Dead phone 
in lap
I recall selected
on an app
With photos
of you
From each
And every season 

I was warmed
by both
Your hat, scarf,
And a boat
We chartered 
for laps
In radiant sun
And soft lipped waves

My hands clung
To their bones
Ligaments hardened
And prone
To holding
You close
By hip
And on thigh

I now sleep
Hands to chest
Harboring heat
Until the next
Besides tracing
Along your breast
Abstract shapes
In the night

It is the way
That you cried
Which came 
to my surprise
This reason
For stagnation
And hopeless

My kindling 
Would not take
And All 
for the sake
Of a puddle
I had produced
Amongst the ash

It was 
the plop
And the sting
Which allowed
My heart to ring
A sailor's bell
And a dying beacon
Of light.

I held on
To the stoke
Not as warm
As I had hoped
For burn is
Not a sensation
I am privileged with

My hands
Do not callus
Won't cry
Nor cling
To my side
Yet hang
And yet twitch
Towards air

Phantom grasps
At smoke
From the bonfire
I toke
Of past
But unforgotten love

I'd enjoy no more
To burn these things
But for heat
Will not bring
The warmth
So acutely

So for now
It is summer
Yet snow
Hangs outside
Me and I
Lay beside
Cold piles 
Of wood
And gasoline

R. Thomas

P: her Name: Text
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