I first lost her to win her. I was much younger. Each semester I was after her. One day, like dropping out of skies, she wrapped her arm around my neck: “Often we look for something right in front of us.” I was dumbfounded; so young, listening to a soul. We mixed messages, pure innocence, a little experience: “I don’t know, should we?” I was never as intense as I should be: “We should give it a try.”
The years bleed, slumping through slums, memories killing me. Raindrops beating into pianos;
violin made internal, judging my ugliness; to come to face with it, exercising inner investigation; fighting wars, shedding pains, wondering about what God people praise.
I came back to her. I couldn’t touch her. She asked why.
Too much to fathom: I met a different soul. Sade would fathom.
From weed to liquor, her arms wounded.
I first met my fate; I returned to meet discontent.
I wanted us to shine, the light was dim, miseries had taken a toll.
The iris in the diamond, the blood as it drips, the future while it hides.
