Yesterday is like toothpaste
and memory breaks down into sections,
sectors, sessions and silver screens
that I collect, like you collect
but wash away with the water tap
till it flows, flows down while I
remember and hope before the glass,
tapping my fingers against the morning
and reexamining the empty space
wishing I could
cut, cut, cut it
into little pieces and fill them with stars.
I’m sad because you love me, I’m sad because you don’t.


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