it has been two years since I ran my hands
past your body, and I have moments where I
can still feel your rusted guitar chords
underneath calloused fingers
like muscle memory
but unlike you,
I have resigned myself to a minor fate;
scaling up my defenses suspended between
stainless steel marionette strings
and maple backbones
and I can still feel your solos
sending sound waves through my soul
as if my past could amplify
the hollowness in our touch
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