These kids of ours
They sometimes remind me of you
“One thousand islands!”
This one bellows
Mimicking you
While pouring on the salad dressing
“That’s some weird, wild stuff!”
The other one sometimes says
Reacting the way you would
When there is nothing good to say
Most of the time
They live in their teenage bubbles
Somewhat obsessed
With their blown out reflections
Or so I think
Until I find one of them
Sniffing your aftershave
Or using your things
Which I should probably
Clear away
But couldn’t quite
And this is why
Sometimes they pretend
To have moved on
That they’re so over
Losing you
So much so
That sometimes
They have me convinced
And yet
They touch your things
And say what you’d say
And tell me a story
About you
Or I look over
To see your expression on his face
Your gentleness
On her placid presence
And it makes my heart
Break and heal
In quick succession
(It hurts so good)
Like a fine gossamer
You are a sticky mesh
Woven just
Under their skin
Invisible
But not forgotten
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