At Mercy To the Feline
I have a habit of constricting words
with a bitten tongue, chewing up & spitting out
the debris of lost opportunities.
Only to be left with a kumquat discontent.
Her beauty wrapped her identity
around my conscious mind & tongue
& vowed to never part.
These old habits never die.
Her name
was the only remnants I could ever distinguish
from the bits of my regret. Somehow,
still the sweetest taste I've ever known.
Four years
rested on the tip of my tongue.
Four years
struggled on the edge of my lips.
All I could muster up was, "Hi, my name is ..."
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