Never Finished — a poem

It was a flash, a scent
An intuitive past-life memory.
A version of us
I thought I held,
Before it was swallowed
In the hurling waves
Of our nonsense,
Of our cowardice,
Of our inability to listen.

I’m sorry, for my parts
That felt so large
To you, so small, to me.
I’m pretending you’re
Sorry too
Collecting apologies on my skin
Like the summer freckles,
Like the grains of sand,
Like the sunny streaks
On my eyelashes.