You scalded me
Probably not much, but just enough
To last till now.

Sitting through work,
I decided I’d finally read your poems
I’m now strong enough.

The first passed,
But the second, its hot fire spilt on me
The last verse hurt.

Because I saw
You there, kneeling before me, a
Cheap facsimile; not him.

And I realized
That these silly scribbles I’ve been jotting
Based on your pain

Have been inherited
From a distant shadow I’d never touch
Jotted in your ink.

And we’re just
Passing pens, from one broken bone to the next
Poems crumbs of pain.

13.XI.24