Let me write you poetry,
Let me plumb the depths of my heart,
To find the words,
To describe your elegance,
And your beauty,
Your poise,
Your humor,
And your strength,
Let me weave you soliloquies,
About the shape of your smile,
Or that shade of blue in your eyes,
That seemingly changes at your whim,
Let me pen you my memoirs,
And tell you it's ok,
Tell you that you were the best thing,
That ever happened to me.

I am a fool,
Designed to crave forbidden fruit,
Made to flagellate myself,
Over and over,
Until my skin tears,
And rivulets of blood seep down my back,
I am a victim of my own folly,
A prisoner in my self imposed prison,
Praying for another day,
Where I can taste the sun on my skin

You swept through
Like a forest fire,
Burning everything in sight.
Wanton devastation,
Reckless and cruel,
Leaving only ashes
And smoke
Rising in pretty curlicues,
The last sign of beauty extinguished.

You are a delicate car crash,
A gentle forest fire,
An elegant apocalypse.

All that's left of you and I,
Is the past tense.
You and I are
A handful of photographs,
Old emails,
A single boarding pass to Toronto and
Hazy memories,
Fraying at the edges
More and more every day.
I miss you.
I wish you and I could be any other tense.
I wish the thought of you and I mattered.

You were the tornado
I never wanted to disappear,
You left my heart
Without a home,
Dazed and stumbling
From one dead end to the next,
And I still wander,
Late at night,
Looking for a light,
To guide me *home