to my missing yellow notebook:

though you have long been away
and i have taught myself to other students–
still i miss your wrinkled noise and lemonbright face;

though there have been lines– no, parades— of others,
some thinner, some fatter
not a one felt quite like you did in my hands
or grated against my palms like you.

not one smoothed beneath my searching fingers like you.

none of them were able to coax such utter honesty from my lips
nor such sensual musings as we shared;

in short,
they were not you and never could be,
and to this day i long for us to be united again.


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