My memories of you have worn soft and feathery

 like the edges of a well-read novel.
I no longer see the colors or shapes 

 of the memories we made
but instead feel them firing off 

 the synapses of my mind 
as if I was born with the thought of you 

 already implanted in my d.n.a.

© 2015 Stacy J. French~Roosa (All rights reserved)



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