Could you point the finger in
some other misdirection?
You, the constant nag reminder
hinting only at the fact that purpose
never really mattered
when the means defined the end.

You're there
in chocolate trousers
unkempt hair
believing all my words like
"God I wish this moment never faded"
(you're the one who faded
out into the bled horizon
talking fables into bridges
stepping slow on circumstance).

You told me all along that I
was beautiful to you
but you'll
be gone before I'll know
if that was true.

03/18/2004

Posted on 03/18/2004
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