i hope to speak to you again
but then what would i say

that your current relationship
makes me feel like an angel
buried alive and forgotten
that i drink
then i call
to hear your voice
but there is nothing to say
i am doomed to dead leaves and empty carousels
i am stuck on one song
the piano is tired of hearing it
and the folds in my throat are tired of singing it
Sundays call for routine
Samson sings my rampant mind to sleep
and David can play to please the Lord
but i will never please you
the way that her tiny hands and heart do
you were everywhere
including my lips
and time will heal all wounds
but instead you left a tattoo
that reads
i ****** up
i still get high from the memories of our eye contact
i know that we could have made it
if we had tried
but you're the balloon that flew away
into a greedy breeze
and you taught my childish heart
that all things are temporary