Mine.

I am mine.
As stones
Watch the
Epochs
Slowly spin
All the stars
Into oblivion
And the eons
Ache across
The fabric
Of being.
As bones
Are placed
Silently
Beneath
Like refugees,
And wait for
Their escape
From fragile flesh,
The spectre of
Breath,
The skin that
Forgets touch
Is a lie told by
Synapse
And neurons
Burn your
Memory.
Love can only be
So patient
And so kind.

© Michelle Joy Gallagher

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