I could sit just like this,

eyes flaming,

long past midnight.

And dream those words,

twist them around me,

and think

of Maybe.

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Why did I waste

all the beautiful things

you used to say?

They are gone

since youve moved on.

Lost to me,

from memory.

Unsaved.

It wasnt love,

after all.

After the fall.

I lived you.

And that was,

in the past tense,

09/07/2003

Author's Note: \"I have nothing to say, and am saying it. And that is poetry.\" --John Cage

Posted on 09/07/2003
Copyright © 2026 Lacy D Phillips