We are but pages
in these our ages
filling our little books 
with baubles and nooks 
that they will find
and whereby might remind 
of what we meant 
when it was penned 
and maybe even so
of times long ago 

Everyone else is 
but additional spices 
to the rack
that we are 
imagine that you 
are the essentials 
necessary to make 
any dish necessary 
and that others 
are their own 
various flavor profiles 
be it tarragon 
or basil or
chili powder or 
cumin or whatever 
makes the meal 
you are taste
a bit better 

I no longer 
pine nor yearn
nor long or
miss for I
have found comfort 
in my silence 
and coziness in
my peace days
blend into night 
like the seasons 
each one bringing 
its own happiness 

Here now me
and the leftovers 
someone else’s forgotten 
we just sit
and smile the 
kind that says 
maybe not there
maybe never there 
oh but here
with the other 
day old bread 

Deja vu all 
over again like 
some merry go 
round I never 
wanted to ride
if I’m going 
to end up 
alone then why
not remain alone 
and cut out 
the middle man