my god all the days we have lived thru
saying
not this
one, not this,
not now,
not yet, this week
doesn't count, was lost, this month
was shit, what a year, it sucked,
it flew, that decade was for
what? i raised my kids, they
grew i lost two pasts—i am
not made of them and they
are through.
we forget what
we remember:
each of the five
the fevered few
days we used
to fall in love.
