Unacquainted Silhouettes

Amiss

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He asked me, if I’d miss him;
it was as if, he meant to ask
of those flowers that stopped
blooming on my window,
despite the warmth of
the sun and the chill of the
water I nurtured together.

It was as if, he knew,
I remembered the nights
parched in the lack of
warbles, the only thread
of acquaintance with the
alien October bird.

It was as if, he knew,
November this year,
settled for more cold and
and scabbed fingers.

He asked me, if I’d miss him,
as if he knew I would, and still
wouldn’t know.

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