poetry critical

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There was a drop of chocolate
on your lips the last time I saw you -  
sweet and light, buttery crisp,
that was us walking on Sunset Beach
the summer before you left me,
before the INS caught on,
before the father of the woman
you meant to marry (someday)
turned you in,
after your brother died in your arms,
his heart ruptured and his eyes
We held sanded hands,
talked about moving North
as soon as your boys were grown.
I wonder if you know that part of me
will always love you, part of me
will always be glad you are gone.
I was so tired of waiting
for your present to end
so that my future could begin,
I didn't even lean in
to capture that one last, dark drop.

10 Apr 15

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