I remember those days, sweating down in Savannah
muggy misery washing over us as we schlepped
across a city that was as hot as hell could be,
yet an angel like you was able to glide
through with no problem, demons all in awe.
Transformed at night into a beautiful disaster
spending all night drinking and dancing,
I carried you home and was by your side,
holding your hair as you hurled throughout the night.

I look fondly back at the cooler moments,
in that air-conditioned museum,
and I remember thinking to myself
the true art walks around the place,
these sculptures and paintings don't know
how lucky they are to be
surrounded by such beauty.

Hands clasped in Forsyth Park,
a sundress simply stunning,
trying to hide weird sweat patterns on my shirt
******* in the gut I've got.
I'm self-conscious, but then get lost
in pale green eyes that chill me.

Nighttime highs of holding you
in ungraceful, crooked arms
are usurped with force by the thrill
of knowing you're safe from harm.

But memories like these are all false,
that trip to Savannah never taken,
all this an exercise in making my own misery.
I have nothing but my realizations,
like realizing that I'm in love with you,
and realizing that I'm thoroughly ******,
for it's agony to fall in love with a friend.

Let this serve as a eulogy for a Love left wanting;
god help me for the pain I've welcomed.