Memories don’t speak directly to me
i’m afraid to confront-
stare down, dominate an omnipresence
that can melt me to the bone.
choosing instead to find
the Parallel Words
that can float besides me, drifting from marrow to palm
i pluck them, like a single petal
crushing thorns, pulping gritty texture
until all remains is soft
a fragmented ball
so i can stroke the parts that feel soft.
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