the immaculate art of being facetious

in lieu of want

of desire

for me

i don’t know when the tide shifted away from us

toward you

toward me

I don’t understand.

dreams of you clutter my head - dreams like before

I pluck them from my heart, which drips wet, broken, and sore

this was the right choice

if only you hadn’t become a stranger

your eyes cut because they are not strange to me

but all that i see in this body I’d known so well is a faint shadow

a shadow of possibility

             He might come back

Your green eyes, once a pasture in which I found solace,

meet mine cold as ice

            the l o v e is lost

and i know it is a mirror...

in my warm brown eyes, you’ll only find bewilderment and longing

for that perfect summer we had

that we will never share again

so,

yes, it hurts to see you