Friday, November 09, 2007


I still can't quite get used to the complete
And utter absence of my wedding ring,
Not on my hand since our divorce went through,
Not 'round my neck since you and I came close.

That finger itches, signals heat or cold—
I start to see it bare. By now you'd think
I might have just adjusted, have a clue.
But my brain’s fried, like eggs—in short, I'm toast.

But you've made me more than a breakfast treat.
Love, put me back together, use old string
Or rubber bands, or chewing gum and glue.
Then you can take your monster to the coast.

We're all assembled out of broken parts,
And are made whole by others' beating hearts.

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