His lips felt different

His eyes remained dead

Hands reaching fumbling hurried

As though he didn’t

Know how didn’t care

Only wanted like I

Was junk mail to

Be sorted and tossed

So different from you

That when you did

Touch me I was

Cartier something to behold

To treasure to keep

To display to smile

Upon when no one

Else was even looking

So, what did you think?

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