You are the age that I was
when we met.
I have become an artifact:
vestigial, an older
version of a thing no longer
necessary, a tool of stone tied
with fraying string in a world
moving on toward bronze.
An archaeologist digs
up my bones and scratches his head.
He cannot fathom what they
were for except in relation
to you.
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 10:59 AM UTC
You are the age that I was
when we met.
I have become an artifact:
vestigial, an older
version of a thing no longer
necessary, a tool of stone tied
with fraying string in a world
moving on toward bronze.
An archaeologist digs
up my bones and scratches his head.
He cannot fathom what they
were for except in relation
to you.