I might look towards the full moon,
And lean towards the eastern rising sun.
Asking God if he remembers your name too?
He might create a cloud or two in dismay.
It’s not personal, sometimes he forgets, like me
To remember things, I haven’t.
Like the color of your eyes, because
I can’t recollect if they were dark green
But they possibly were a soft blue
That like hers swallow me against the mahogany fibers raining
Down her porcelain face.
But you are not.
Trust me, I don’t mean to offend.
I’m brisk like the wind, destined to
slide across, but never through. and
If little by little you grow wiser
In this autumn spectacle of reddish
Melancholy, one finds abandoned at an old farm
Against that same shade of blue you find
At the cabin lake, which again looks
Like her hair falling in front of her eyes.
You’ll know where this conversation is going.
It’s not like I’m in control here,
It’s only natural that the largest
Impacts remain through time,
and it’s just unlucky that
you had aimed for her crater.
Because now you and I
Have become uncomfortable, like a shrunken wool sweater
Rubbing against a wound I’d
Rather not open again,
And rather than let you go to waste
I am gifting you to goodwill
Because surely there is someone you will fit,
It just isn’t going to be me.