I run in fields of
your flighty laughter,
memories of you
spun like candy floss
for me to hold atop
a stick long after
you are gone.
I imagine you sit there
working through hedge
funds,libor rates, shell
corporations and other
mumbo jumbo that meant
nothing to me then or now.
We traded love in verse
or pun all through long
summer afternoons while
you worked and I pretended
to.That meant everything.
I did not tire of your
thoughts as you spoke
them loud, nor of the
gussied up lies of your
febrile imagination.
I just loved.
I soaked in all of you
until I changed hue. Willing
to be the chalice bearer
of love unconditional. I
would have poured until
deluge overcame you.
Instead you chose to
leave me in fields
ablaze with nothingness
smelling your absence
in westbound wind. You
did not wave as you left
you just did.
There is a word you have
missing after a
apostrophied departure.
You left for me to
fathom the infinite
ways to fill in a blank.
I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...
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