you have me bewildered
as if a bird with a crippled wing
when i left
fall had become colors
turning cold against
the flush of cheeks

you missed your ride home
came back to say my name

why?

i liked your poems
when i couldn't see myself in them
or you and
what we had

i find myself
wanting more of them
the songs too
before this summer turns
to stone

i don't want to wonder
'if only'

you already do that

immortality makes me laugh
it's all too brief
and then we end up with
nothing at all

i've decided
people make too much of
everything

who really gives a damn?