I didn’t know,
I could love
you so.
My single rose.
Plucked
yet still somehow grows.
I didn’t know.
No lyric prepared me,
no single prayer
could ever have saved me.
Love, like a dragon’s lair
something I saw
now not so sure was there.
And what use am I?
When
you can have
the whole entire sky.
Every sheen and hue
remind only of you.
To what purpose
or what point
was I even born?
When I am left
so forlorn.
Grateful only
once you’re gone.
As if all the birds
conspired of you
just so there could be
a dawn.
For all that is left of you
is in song.
Yet sometimes still,
in a stifled sigh or yawn
I can catch you sideways.
But only during cloudy afternoons
on Fridays.
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