Poetry, Pulpit

In the mirror today
I realised that my nose reminds me of
And, what a tragedy it is that now
Every time I look in the mirror
I should see a piece of you
Staring back
From within me
And maybe the cheeks too
They bear a certain
To your sharp and rosey features
Set like shapely apples
Buried under a mask of tanned leaves
When each day you look at me
Forlorn eyes,
Sometimes green sometimes brown
So sincere
Hollied hairs tickling
Did your eyebrows grow like mine?
Then the line of that chin…
Rosé lips lingering soft
But then I remember your little teeth
And tiddy tongue I touched
Kissed with mine
Nibbling my ear
Where my teeth can’t catch
And I remember, every day
Memory’s blood-hound nose,
It’s claws.

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