Songs

Nothing touches one like the pain of knowing that they had already found what they sought. They were just not in the right place to accept the full gift of love. Each word admits another. Even a city full of strangers can be a balm. Pearls and plums. I must let the words pour out like petals. For you are my petal: I began writing you a love poem about that. But I didn’t finish it and never gave it to you. I shore and rock to think of the family I left behind: to think of the partner of all of my dreams.

You were everything I could ever have hoped for, and more. How black and terrible can despair be to hide that? Each stranger is a stranger in a park, each walk is a dance in the dark.