Not much

What was bestowed upon us

was really not much

like a sunset so often

almost not special

yet its presence

always desired

your presence

always needed

Yet all that remained

was so much to keep

My keepsake

of your gestures

inside the pocket of

that same old jean

Its pocket is ripping

every sewed strand

losing its might

to hold my thoughts of you together

like before,

before is getting earlier and further

The pocket of my old jean

says what’s coming

is just that

one day

there is a pocket no more

All strands unbridled

All love stranded

Not much will be left

<a href=””>Bestow</a&gt;

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