I still remember
the drawn out afternoons,
the minutes passing without a thing to do,
the clock just a metronome
keeping us in time.
I poked fun at you without reason;
jealousy leads one into themselves it seems.
Do you recall?
We were carnal beings...
I'd apologize for my egoistic banter,
but apologies are best left to the
eulogizer,
and this may be some sort of graveside whisper;
a long-winded to-do list of idle talk.
I'd call you
"Lesbia", "Rosalind",
"my diadem stashed away",
but twenty-two months wore words away
and it would seem like frantic blandishing.
Maybe in my own life
I may be able to demonstrate
what William Yeats had meant
by a body quarreling with it's soul,
but I think -- You're delusional! --
that I could be content.
I remember everything ---
I remember the yielded heart feels a subtle sting.
The yew chattered in the wind outside your
window and I felt rooted
as I told you
I was you and would always be.
But twenty-two months is a long time.