Your hands were bigger than the moon when they circled my thighs,
and my skin was soft in the light that spread over freshly laundered sheets
the color of butter and moonlight.
Like the tide, I drifted in and out of your shore.
The sand has dried up and the moon has fallen.
You have left me stranded, here on this island of metaphors,
as if words could encompass the pain that has fallen between us
like silence.
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