He was my
unraveling sweater.
Pull the string
and the rest disintigrates.
Maybe he will
fit someone else
In the mean time,
I’m cold
and feel silly
all alone
and naked.

He was my
loose thread.
Pull it
and the sweater unravels.
I come undone.
Maybe I will
fit someone else
Until then
I’m cold
standing here
all alone
and naked
with only the memory of
the weave of
the fibers
he left behind
the second time around.

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