Do you miss them?--
those short, tidy messages
you'd send back and forth
to each other whie you sat
side-by-side in class.
I erased them, and I erase you
a little more each day
when I happen to see how you missed her
natural voice, her natural hair, her
thin, natural body.
Now don't give me bull
that you don't care
what I look like. I used to be
the only blonde you ever loved,
I guess.
But she's blonde, too;
I'm younger than she is
and already going gray.
You used to say gray was
your favorite color;
I doubt you remember that.
Please tell me what you think
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A happy little poem, no?
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