flying somewhere againwhat does it matter whereall these thousands of feetup in the midnight skyyour ghost flies along with mewithout stopping to breatheoutside there is a stormand inside it rages still

just when I thinkit gets betterclothes throw me –this top,wine red, pinstriped,brings to mind howit made youwant to turn back,take it off me,take the day back –make it oursI don’t want to seewhat you once saw –andno longer desire

My heart was lost completely in that magical moment when you turned and looked at me for the very first time and whispered ‘beautiful,’ your dark deep eyes filled with everything I’ve ever wanted. We were at our highest then. After that it was only fall.

The other day – drink in hand, at sunset – you said people don’t ever really get over someone they love.I was trying to explain that old rule of thumb I read somewhere, where they say it takes half the time you were with someone to get over them.No, I don’t believe it either.

you standbehind a wallof silenceI sit hereand bleedwordsI don't knowwhich one of usis wiserbut I knowwhich one of usstill loves

getting over you is scheduled for once in every two months – pace yourself in tripping me over: I’ve gotten over you in January just past; mess me up again on the Ides of March.

sometimes in the afternoonsI see the moonhanging from invisible threadsin the sky it has your name carved on italways but there is no moon, and thereis no youthe eyes sometimes see what the heart wants

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