Breadcrumb #522

MW MURPHY

today
I saw you
again
in the rain
in the bottom
of my coffee cup
in the puddled water
on Hester Street
today I breathed 
you in the 
film of rising smoke
of the fire pit
as
marshmallows
melted to brown 
and blackened glaze
breathed you
in the aftershave
lingering
in the space on aisle # 11
of CVS
today
I tasted your skin
all salty and burnt
on the windswept late summer
Chatham beach
in the heavy wet wind
on brine covered bits 
of broken seashells
scraping against bare feet
I tasted you 
on my own sweat
droplets
saw you
looking back
in my own mirrored
reflection
as showered fog
cleared
today
I saw you
again
in the windowed storefront
on East 9th Street 
you didn’t look back
when I hurried past
and when you turned
amidst the hipster faces
pushing 
at the charm counter
sale
it wasn’t you…

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