I’ve been stealing away bits of you, storing them deep within myself;
Your breath in my lungs,
   your scent in my nostrils,
      the contours of your body in my fingertips,
         the texture of your skin in my lips.
I’ve been clever, I think; I know you can’t be with me always.
In my loneliness I draw upon these wells,
And discover I can’t contain you.
Desperately I search my skin for a bruise you may have left me with,
   a cut,
      a scratch.
There are none;
My skin is too thick, too coarse, too far from my heart.

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