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Too late for hugs

or for tough love

Sit back in the easy chair

The ease is in the glass

Rippling memories

all of them pure

all of them in Sunday dresses

Always holding her hand

listening to light laughs about impossibilities

The old sips are vague

punctuations on happiness

an oblivion blanket on pain

Love was liquid

and then it was smoke

and then it was steel

And one last chance doesn’t hold well in shaky hands