you still feel the sparking heat of his sun in your lungs
and he still turns around expecting to find you sitting there
you hear him sometimes;
reading poetry to your ancestors
falling like an anchor through the sky
he thinks of you always
in jazz music and pale skin and silver christmas trees and buttons your footsteps up in his pocket
he misses you like the absence of two hearts
but he doesn't dare recreate you
he doesn't dare

{the stars lean down to kiss you
and i lie awake and miss you}

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