The low yellow
moon above the
Quiet lamplit house.

These scars that bind my heart
still bleed at the mention of your name.
You love that, don't you?

"I wish you well."
                                                          ­                    



                                         ­                                     (but not too well without me)

We fall asleep to
       Strawberry Fields,
folding bodies to match an unfamiliar shape
and I must remember
   that certainly,
      you can't fall in love
  with every boy who gives you his hands
    and an irregular heartbeat
in exchange for the breath from your chest;
but sometimes
     
     I just forget.