Like
seasons or times of death,
every day
we lose our virginities
in new and interesting ways:
Smile. Jog. Cough. Sputter.
Every night, we die, every minute
we change,
you and I,
into something
nostalgic, like,
remember how it was
five minutes ago?
We shrug. We titter.
We say no -- no
we don’t remember.
We roll our shoulders back.
It’s just a phase
of the moon
after all.
It’s the sun
beamed at a body
in space.
The same difference
is all relative, at least
for whatever day’s today.
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