Muscular Dystrophy

Muscle memory

Folds my body into a pose

Ready for embrace

Yet, the folds slowly

Lose their crease

 

Reminiscing, the muscle

Remembers the presence it once

Held on to so dearly

Remembers the tingling sensation

The group of fingers always left behind

On the way to live on the hip

 

How the skin atop it never

Seemed to bunch up

In a crowd of goosebumps

Even when his touch

Was unexpected

 

And as the muscle’s memory

Slowly fades

It feels the final

Pulses of the palm

Of his hand

That gently sways it to

A blissful rest

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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