popsicles

he fits between the
palms of my hands
like a popsicle split in
half from the wooden core
on a summer day
I can’t hold him I can’t
stop the sugar from bleeding
through my fingers
melting into the warm pores
of the boardwalk leaving
stains and traces that will
soon be washed away but
here I am frozen and numb
helpless in trying to stick
things back together that
were never forged together
in the first place so here
we stand with remnants and
the oncoming rush of
brain freeze and wintery artifacts

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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