Fall in love, and eventually, in well.
Life, worthwhile together, and challenge.
Ten years they spent together, trying.
End of story.
Last summer I wrote last year.
Love, merely tepid.
Fresh lipstick doesn’t take.
Weakness is not enough.
She’s dying.
Run-down, she can’t stop.
Remembering nineteen.
She leaves, and fails.
She, glinting in the distance, a juniper limb.
Cool air, moving in freedom sheets.
Contrary is being free.
Freedom isn’t.
Languorous may be summer.
Charming, a commitment is a commitment.
Underwater, entwined with despair.
Seashore, virtuous and grateful, guilty and confused.
Was I ever going to get over this?