I can write about sweet things, too.
Like the dreams we once had.
They were better
than milk chocolate
or wildflower honey.
Those summer rains
that coated the chestnuts
and those diamonds
that glittered off the lake.
You.
Oh you.
The Queen of The Jet Ski.
You said you could care less
about me
having no money.
You said you
would marry me,
then you died
on a lonely two lane road.
Nobody saw it coming...
it still hurts.