I Come Across

I come across
A photo of you,
Buried in computer files;
Your hair soapy, glistening and wet,
Your skin clear and latin.

You are smiling for the camera
(And who is behind it? I think I can guess),
A playful smile.
Biting just a bit
At your lower lip.

The kind of smile that patters soft,
Echoing footsteps along the
Marble hallways of my sleep.

A thick strand of your slick hair
Snakes down your forehead,
Parts over your eye so I can see your pupil,
Black as black reflects back,
And curves longingly around your cheek.

This is the kind of thing I’d always feared.
Even in decay, I feel a twang
On rusty strings.

I can see your shoulders.
The next one is your foot.
And I know what happened next.

I start with a cold sweat
Alone in your
Double bed.
Wrapped in pink sheets,
His eye regards me remorselessly.

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