Her Mold

I look down
At bitten finger nails
And fidgeting hands
And they
Aren’t mine
They are
Hers

.

Drip drop
The remains
Of my melted candle
Experience
Falls into my mind

.

I was falling
Into
An attention-less despair
And she caught my love
And showered herself
In a white cascade
Of personality and essence
On me

.

Her bath
Drips into place
Freezing
Into me
Making me
Pick up bits
Of her personality
And adding them to mine
Consciously
And unconsciously

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