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Click hereI like not knowing. Hope breeds there. There is no scoreboard, just memory. I fondly think of you. I prefer long-distance friendships. Bait, hooks, and lure. Fumbled botched like untamed feathers. Hair to the middle of your back eyes closed those hands like I remember. My father was a butcher with hands like hams. June brings promise. How quickly each day slides into a year. It was right there all along. Found it though it made no difference.
poem in unorthodox paragraph form, the nexus between the elements might be closer. Some lines stand outside where they might interlock. "hands like hams" works