Snakeskin

Your memory haunts the ruins of my mind like the snakeskin I found in the shed behind my house.

I was cleaning, clearing space for the spring and came upon it, tattered and torn, brittle, its former occupant long gone, resting somewhere far beneath the still frozen ground.

These reminders of you leave me breathless. No sooner have I chased away the chill of our past together then you emerge from another dark lair, scraped clean by the snows of winter, and I sense that the pain has always been with me, sleeping somewhere deep within in hibernation, waiting for the thaw of spring.

July 14, 1998

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