The last poem I will ever write for you.

I wish I had the influence to move softly and with purpose
so you may not know where or when I maneuvered into your world.
We look at each other a little less business-like
and whoa
I’m all in
and can only wish you were the same.
But at times I wonder if I register at all.
Understood by quarters, know by halves
We give a fraction of ourselves
A bit of the whole, a piece or a part
Leaving with less than we came with.
This is what emotions look like on paper
Wanting to make that poetry burn like it did when we were kids
on the ladder chain climbs and the roller coaster drops that
neither of us anticipated to enjoy so much
Where there was no one making us
Get off
And get back into the line.
Time heals as they say.
Cuz leaving is easy,
but the staying gone that’s hard.
I spend time destroying those things I held on to
Until I can’t make any real outta you any more.
This is not a gold endorphin
spurned from the dreamed up lie.
This is not the rain of thoughtless love,
or all the reign of loveless thought.
This is not another monster growing drunken on the oily wine of words.
This is a just a man. No longer- your enemy.
His ego left by the night train,
the one with all the stops.
The body that remained was
the one lightning struck,
scarred and always strangely warm.
He knows it’s no good to apologize with half a heart
or pick too hard at the scab of regret,
There is never a good way
to end a fever,
especially with fire.
So he chooses to be soft
as the water in your glass
unperturbed by thirst.
Or a nocturne
in a c sharp minor, played with pedal down;
a lament—humbled and silent.



2 thoughts on “The last poem I will ever write for you.

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