Baggage

I will not miss her any more over the weeks
When I am gone. I doubt that I will miss
Her less. I see her here three times a week,
But only briefly. We don't speak. Sometimes,
It seems, she peeks at me, but there's no sign,
There's not to be one, that we used to be
Quite close. I'd go to her (but only briefly)
To remember happiness. She always brought
It back to me, and I'd be further pleased
To watch her face relax, to see her smile,
Something she doesn't do that often.
She, or someone, one day, started thinking
What we did was wrong, and, since that time,
We've stayed apart. I cannot miss her more
Or less if she is near or I am gone. I miss
What we became together even more
Than her.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 73 times
Written on 2017-09-18 at 13:19

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