Untitled (A Love Poem)


Hidden beneath empty newspapers,
Thick clouds of smoke,
And piles of sand
I spy a hand
Unlike any other because
This hand is covered in dust.
Dust uncommon and hard to remove
I lift the papers, swat at the smoke,
And shift the sand to the side
To unveil a statue of a beautiful boy.
Still, covered in the uncommon dust
Gray, frozen in time
I reach out, hoping he won't crumble at
My touch, it is warm and non-threatening
And as I lay my Hand
On top of his, fingers entwining
Dust dissipates
Turns into rabbits dashing to-and-fro
Pigment illuminates
An unending doom
Flesh on flesh, his wounds
Are mine.

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