I’ll Pick that Up Anyway

The guitar strap, snapped
and left on the bedroom floor,
looking like a bra discarded,
halfway to the bed as we
stumbled backwards, hands fumbling
for only each other.

The egg shell, dropped
just short of the trash,
milk chocolate brown,
it had looked good enough
to swallow whole, like a snake
with little fat mice.

The unlucky penny, flipped
onto tails and smudged by years,

the shine gone off,

but still enough for

cheap gumball machines.

 

The perfect scars, scattered

across my skin,

like seeing the stars, like

snow marred by ice,

like everything ever come back to me.

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