I don't ask why,
Only when,
When will your kiss grace me?
When will you be mine again?
When will I be swept away in your wind?

I just want to plant my poems each
Inside of books
To watch them live
And to smell them up

remember that when
your wavering soul
catches fire
for the second
or hundredth
time

when you call on me
once more
misery boiling over
a cascade of every
decision, you
never made

i will not be there
you are alone