Spencer Linford


I remember your soft skin,
The smell of your ear,
The way you fried the eggs for breakfast.

I have stopped eating eggs since you
It’s hard to stomach what could have been life
When everything else has

My memory is like a tree now,
Maturing with time and providing a place 
to rest
From the chaos of the world.
It’s quiet under the tree
Most days
But sometimes the tree drops a rotten fruit whose sweetness stinks
And I begin to feel sick all over.

When those times come, I go for a walk around
Town and think.
I remember windows down on fast car drives.
I remember your electric kiss,
Your asking eyes.
I remember your soft coos.

But mostly I remember your

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