It’s amusing how I glorified your every word.
made them up to be immeasurable and compelling,
playing them over and over in my head.
Your beautiful and electric words,
caressing my ears as they brushed your lips.
Floating from mind to page,
your pen as your loves instrument.
Hypnotic and sincere that made life a fairytale,
yet looking back on those times now they lack conviction.
No more than merely ramblings of a desperate boy,
who played on girls wishes to be princesses and be the centre of a love story.
These words you let out were just strung into lines on a page,
in attempt to fill

the

space.

Only until this cigarette is ended,
A little moment at the end of all,
While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,
And in the firelight to a lance extended,
Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,
The broken shadow dances on the wall,
I will permit my memory to recall
The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.
And then adieu,—farewell!—the dream is done.
Yours is a face of which I can forget
The color and the features, every one,
The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;
But in your day this moment is the sun
Upon a hill, after the sun has set.