The Affair

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The Affair

I fell in love with childhood,

he wore a red cape

made of polyester plaid,

tiny stitches of lines

circulated around his palm.

He never wore a mask,

his memories wore enough of one,

a fog remnant of a dream,

his home he’d never see again

all along the river, led up to a lake.

It didn’t matter anyway,

a wedge upon two brick walls

was a plaque – or a warning –

a memorial, perhaps, but

all succumbed to his pain,

every inch crumbled to dust.  

That’s when I took his childhood away.

I fell in love with memories.

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