If only you were some ill-conceived conceit:
unlikeable, unreal. cardboard cutout, replete
with evidence of failure, warning signs flashing by like
high-watt highway lights, and eyes so very unlike fullerite.

Your eyes were sharper than diamonds, and nowadays
they cut into me, but I can’t meet their gaze.
And you know what they say:
that  everything looks perfect from far away,
and you look real perfect right now...

I smile at how stupid i sound.
This isn’t a love poem.

When i first met you, you were a whirlwind,
a new friend, an enigma, and every breath we drew
intermixed, condensed by winter’s tricks
till we were somewhat inseparable,
and every word we wrote hid
a smile, every step we took
towards each other bridged miles.

Well you’re less a whirlwind now,
and more an aftermath.

I want these words to reach you
and cut deep:
Love is a dance that takes two
and you broke my feet.