There will come a hour
in a day that has not yet been born
that you will realize.
In the stretching of dawns arms as she yawns out the sunrise, you will realize what a gift I was.

In the bleeding inky blackness
of a night
spent kissing one brown bottle after another, you will realize
the treasure
you overlooked.

  Perhaps it will peek-a-boo at you
on an August afternoon
when you see a contemporary art piece on a boardwalk;
you'll see, you flaked me off
like a piece of the translucent skin
you peel off your sunburn.

It will fit together like a jigsaw puzzle
that you never cared to open;
left slumbering in your attic.

In a moment, in an hour, in a day, in the future, you will miss what I was for you.
You will miss me.