To the woman I thought I loved

Infatuation lives at the corner of dreams and reality,

a bum, housed in a glass house

he lost everything as a junkie to Cupid’s supply.

Lovers die in the corners of our memories, forgotten

as silence slowly replaced your laughter

tears erased the hickies.

I can not say I didn’t love

we were two moons on a star-less night

but with daylight our glow faded.

You woke up to realize you didn’t feel the same

as I tried to seek warmth lying on your cold shoulders

I lived the dream, you dreamed to leave.

There was never a goodbye

no kisses in the rain

only this poem, for which closure I hope to gain.