Rewritten, rewritten, rewritten,
Rewritten is the story of us...
With the intent of making it beautiful.
Honest.

But as with this distance,
Adding more lines can make a poem complicated,
Until I can't quite remember why I'm writing anymore.

Why must I tell you that once time passes,
I'll spend it with you in the arms of love,
When every moment is another mistake,
Spent by me with another in the throes of passion?

And how sorry I am,
For not being a happy have-not,
Though I know that I will.

You deserve someone who writes as beautiful and as honest as she is.

I saw you wearing

Three different pairs of pants

At the same party

twisted bicycles and empty pop cans line the longest street in the world-
making my way ever closer to the frozen city I catch a glimpse of the relics of yesterday-
paper bags and frost covered couches-
chilled passengers seeking the brief warmth of the morning commute-
sunlight and frost dance together and create crisp partnerships forever more-
the bus driver has no trust in cats-
the great dane out with it's friend sparks memories of my past-
bitten in the face yet still loving dogs with such grace-
the frozen city awakes as the relics of last night claim their place-