Thumbprints

Blue, chipped nail polish,
brushing down his chest,
creating trails of fire
and dressing him in newness,
in expectations and forgotten lyrics;
he places his piano hands
on a boney shoulder
and finds hollowness.
Wilting flowers passed
so often for their withering petals
hold her memory
forgotten,
but a different kind of magical,
that to the untrained eye
looks dull in comparison,
but on her own,
she is a sun.
His back eclipses her like the moon
and she arches hers to meet him halfway,
to press herself against
someone who never wavered
visibly;
she is so afraid.
Unwashed hair and unspoken words
hang from his face like a shield
and he is eclipsing her,
swallowing her,
loving her in every way he knows how.
Afterward, his room still held her presence
as her ghost refused to leave,
and he found a thumbprint
on his chest, in the place
where his heart should have been,
that was covered in
blue nail polish.

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