BF His

They remarked with the same identity
I loved you rather loosely,
But he was tight, fitting,
Left me marvelling at marble arms when he was sitting.
Upper causeways, brick cobbles,
blurred streets,
You twitched the live wires in your chest
But he wears stitches like dreams
And chases trains of sugar cream.
Like yo-yo string you wrap around your fingers
the guitar strings loom around his play-hand, it thrills us
And my tiny heart strings roll into shoestrings, tie a knot, they ping.
Inked out into oblong treasures,
the size of his glasses, his hair,
Fitted like tapestry you still breathe soundly my lovely doormat
He wipes his pumas on you and comes to me for a chat.
You yearned for my touch when you were mine.
I called out clouds, ten thousand,
Asked you to be whisked away
But BF His hugged me as if to say,
He knows not of us last Thursday.
The guilt didn’t leave fire in my cells or poison in my lungs.
I carried on.
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