the last leaf

a leaf dangling precariously for 20 years
has been finally plucked out.
my heart was not ripped apart, though.
what remain are only broken pieces of memory
in darkish corners of my mind.
the feel of her earlobes;
regret in not being able to kiss;
a bench by the lake in the middle of the night
where we never sat together on;
threatening call to kill herself;
wedding pictures with the handsome younger man;
sultry and clammy fantasy.
the desperate gesture I ignored,
which has become the final one.
final? I look into her picture.
would I want to be a leaf dangling
desperately from her naked twig?

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