THE GOOD HURT

Come in from the snowfall and darkness,
when we let those starry dust petals
– as brilliant and unique as the strands
of our DNA, winding through us
– rest in the tangles of our hair
and soak into our top coats.

Come in and run the numbness
of your palms below the faucet,
wishing warm water was the lone
and simple cure for this feeling.

I’d bet every song I love
that it hurts.

When your important, fragile pieces
are the coldest they’ve ever been,
I pray you find your equal.

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