2/3rds done

none are irreplaceable.
even the worthless;
the ones you hide from
or the ones you bury
into the deepest recesses of your mind.
Where they can play alone,
in long abandoned
swingsets, like that one girl
who used to kick you
in the 3rd grade.

no one is irreplaceable.
even those that idle,
the tingly ones
that leave murmurs,
on chilled flesh,
where they had feigned
a loving touch.
The ones that float
to the top of your frying pan.
on your front burner,
the tilted one,
where you always manage
to spill the eggs
all over yourself.