Heat.

Constellations of frozen glances
I so lovingly photographed and watched 
Fade through the icy glass of photo frames. 
A blazing pattern of fire
Streaking across the unblinking eyes on my wall.

Scorch marks, blackened over time.

I miss the heat from the stove, 
On the nights of adventures in deck chairs,
Watching, or not, movies in blankets of ourselves.
Seeing you receive slopping kisses from man’s best friend,
You were; you are mine. 

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