Born to sidestep

Life’s immaculate conspiracies

As their revived versions persist in

Knocking on my door



As Spring’s youth turned to dust

A new such trap

Came strolling in while my eyes kept busy


Passing strangers’ floating forms

From behind the oak

Of my local café’s

Counter top,


Splattered tears of brewed grit

As my mind succumbed

To the faded memory of the passing beauty’s

Childlike laugh

And choked on stone-cold toast

As the outgrown friend’s ghost

Tickled locals with the coy flatter

Of eyelashes’ giddy form,


And through it all I remembered

How her sugar-coated lips

Had stolen my first kiss

Before my arms proved too constricting

For her fleeting heed.

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