I just finished writing a love poem to my husband.
This is NOT it.
This is about something--a cliche, really--with which I have no experience.
MATCHBOOK
A little piece of cardboard
is where it starts
and soon the world
has run amok:
trust reduced to fractured numbers,
a slash through a handclasp
unknown lips
wrapped around
unkindled flame
licking the sweetness
from the digits
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