Puzzled

i can still taste your image
from my summer’s dream
a crown of roses shielding
your eyes, and now the breeze
of September in the palm of my hands
like matchbox burns, igniting the dunes
of my identity’s stamp.

A pixilated puzzle, scattered
they found in my mind’s map
yet held safe and sound
are the pieces I’ve joined
together, but
it all seems like
the dreams of
a lost child chasing the dust
like the cube of all that
was never solved at once

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