Your cold fingertips grazing
My heart-shaped locket -
The touch takes a toll on the
Color and texture of my secrets.
Remains of sunscreen on
The soft edges of my cheeks -
They glisten in the Sun
And give a twirl on the beach.
Lightly you tug on the sleeves
Of my sun-bleached jacket -
My pity and painful smile
I keep it locked and hidden.
A teabag left in the mug,
My lips taste saccharine -
Laundry you left behind
Penny in the washing machine.
The coffee stain on my heart you
Couldn’t bother to wipe off -
I might be cursed because
This casualty is bleeding in me.
The ordinary and the mundane
And how well they blend -
Like the yawn of a great dane
I wish this poem could end.
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