We could have been friends -
if you hadn't been lost
in the smell of her raven hair
her eyes like two lost lockets
full of black and white photographs
letters penned by hand
poems she never knew how to write.
So, do you still have
Neruda's poems?
The fountain pen?
That first bottle of ink?
I should have known
when I saw you drop it -
that everything precious
can be replaced.
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