June 9, 2015

I prefer books to actual people

 The hundred imaginary ones I see
As a story unfolds, I find
Have stayed closer
Kept me warmer for longer
Than friends I’ve spent ages with

Perhaps it’s why
I’d rather live with the memory of you
Than sprint till the end
And see what this transforms into

I’d make you a plateful of your favorite treats
And smiling, watch you eat in glee
That delicious first piece

And quietly I would then leave
Before finding out whether
The last piece
Made you sick

The day we have a perfect day
Is the last day I will be with you

And I’d rather live with the tiny perfect memory of us
Than follow to completion
What I know must change
To become sour, a burden or an aching emptiness


Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

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