Slope of an empty spoon that moonlight grazes and goes away
Bereft lily pad in a pond, clinging to a scent that wouldn't stay
Fading blackness of the night
A last unturned page
Old brown blood
Green raw bud
A cracked glass that won't hold a drink
Spilt perfumed wine
Not all, not much, not all that much
-But that is what it means to miss.
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