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There will come a time
where I no longer remember
the taste of your skin
in the morning,

I won’t remember
how soft it feels
at all times of the day,
as if too delicate
for hands or

I will remember
not to search for you
under the covers
at night,
not to feel around
for your hands
in the dark
when I wake up
to thunder
or dreams
or uncertainty.

I will remember
the taste in my mouth
the last time
you said you loved me
and meant it,
how bittersweet
the taste of

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