An Almost Regrettable Rekindling

It is still there.

I can hear it in the way his questions,
Although about me,
Although to
And answered by me
Are not for me.

I thought it was gone.

I returned to tales of conquest,
Vaguely lude introductions,
A successful poor man’s swagger,
And nary a whisper of what had been.

Step, step, step.

Leaves,
Shredded,
Flutter quickly to the ground,
Damp with the sweat from my fingertips.

Poor boy…

Words and ideas,
More luminescent in his worldview than mine,
Followed him home
And whispered hope and unused history,
Price tag still attached,
Into the dusty corners of him.

Questions,

Pointed shards of mirror,
Flashed aged desire in my eyes.
I wince at its veiled bluntness,
Glad he knew not to try.

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