How strange is it that I forgot about you?
I used to write poetry about you-
you were my stand-in muse.
again and again
I replaced a strangely
unspecific space
somewhere I’m unsure of
somewhere a midst my center.
you.
don’t exist.
you are the minutes,
yes,
and all the miles between wherever
I may happen to be
and whoever I currently need “you”
to be.
you’re fabricated, you see.
and only briefly appreciated
because you will never
blow my mind.
you’re only as large
and fantastical
as my imagination can stretch.
so you see?
you’re no great threat.
c.m.
8-19-14