This game has lost its sparkle
and certain pieces have disappeared
between the couch cushions.
My brain is Play-Doh
and there is a squeeze that
pushes it through the contraption,
converted into spaghetti strands.
I only see you
in a glimpse
that becomes hard to remember
and even more difficult
to forget.
In moments of whimsy,
I’m the list-maker extraordinaire.
Generating reasons
of why, how and should.
How never turns out
like it should,
but why?
Perhaps
you could assuage this fear.
Melt it.
Wear it around your neck
on a beautifully, frayed string.
I would give you this moment
and 1,000 others like it.
Just answer the remaining question
of when.
CROSS FADE
