Cross legged on my bed
old letters in my hand
tears in my eyes
I recall the sweet love we shared.
Sweet like a chocolate dessert
we tenderly nibbled at first
then later shoveled with more wild
and wild abandon
tossing aside spoons with our inhibitions
and scooping it up with our hands
until there was nothing left
but a few crumbs and frosting on the pan.
Trying to scoop up what might be left,
I run my finger across the love.
I read the letter as if it were the first time,
but it’s stale
and the memory of
the sweetness makes
its absence that much worse.
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