I’d hate that porch swing,
where we both sat, laughing as the rain
came down around us,
but why waste hate
on sunwarmed slats of wood?
It is time to make new memories
and move on, I know.
I know. But it still
hurts.
That is nothing new.
Swings never go anywhere,
not really.
Just back and forth, chained in place.
Caught, like me
between a diamond and a naked hand
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