Afterthought in the afterhours
In the farthest reaches of your conscious
I collect the ashes of thoughts
That burn through your mind
Waiting for your hands
To take hold of my spine
Your pattern always
Flipping through my first few pages
Skipping to my very last
You like to revisit how I began and how I end
Sometimes a half thought as you put me back
Others a distracted shove of the hand
In a measure of certain adoration
You like to know that I’m always there
And in the afterglow of our half life
I am
I am
E.A. O'Connell
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