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.