the idea of people

I miss you in a haze of tea,
Or maybe champagne.
A peculiar loss, I
Stripped of not freedom
But opportunity as blinding as a strobe.

I never loved you, but I loved how
You smelled: of the first time I dove off a cliff.
Tasted of my first cigarette.

You would appear with no shirt,
Calling out slurred fragments of words as broke as the wooden rafters.
Or maybe you were in a navy blue blazer
With golden rings framing each button,
Covering your make believe problems with a 
Too-good-to-believe French accent.

I miss you in the throbbing mornings, 
Almost transparent in a coating of
Insincere laughter.

So you’re gone and I can’t touch you.
I can’t breathe in a different choice,
Can’t sing a rhyme and have my future decided.
But I replaced you; destroyed you


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