It Sticks

Absence sticks
like smoke
clinging
to the ground,
clogging lungs,
suffocating,
hovering,
sticking.

It’s a blade
in your side
every moment
you breathe,
a pain that never subsides.

One where two should be,
alone where full should be,
it’s significant
in its insignificance,
a jacket
in the middle of summer,
wearing jeans
and trying to swim,
heavy,
damp,
burdensome.

My arms ache
with the agony
of an absence
that never ends.

~Patience

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