Potry

A sliver of black-gray
is peeking from in between
two stark buildings.

A blur, fuzz, mist
sits about my head,
spinning; I try to

forget you and
everything. But,

really? I lie. I never
wanted to forget.

Recollections of smiles, and witty
remarks dull any anger or ill feeling.

I still love you, girl.

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