You come to me on the ends of thoughts
ones that have nothing to do with you
or so I so mistakenly believe
However, you were never that simple-
in looking at those dim times
the spectre of what you were then
intrudes on all the adjectives of my now
There is always something
some small, nearly senseless filament
of simile that leads back
and yet again am I tangled
breathlessly flailing through webs
of undesired reminisces
woven by the thready remainders of you