The Spot That Follows

I don’t have
a favorite breath, nor a
preferred heartbeat…
I can remember a space
in the air,
in front of me
where you were but are
not now,
I can hear in the buried
past of my soul
the rustle of clothes, the friction
of air molecules as
they collapsed into the place
where you once were…but…
a desired breath? How about
all of them? An ideal heartbeat?
Yes…I would have that/those
as well but;
it is no use trying
no use remembering
because the empty spot
that travels with me
hovering in front of me
always there
always echoing the idea
that it was you
and not
air and
that filled that

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