In freshman biology
I learned how to find
the diaphragm
in a pickled fetal pig.
I’d like you to know
mine’s not working
and hasn’t been
since you left.
I may have made
the right decision
to forget you,
but my body doesn’t agree.
Some piece of me
still turns when I hear
someone whose sound
reminds me of you.
My nose
remembers scents
that I associate
with wanting you.
That strange bit
of irrationality
that feels memory
in my chest…
That’s working just fine, thanks.
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