It’s the dark 
holes that haunt 
me now pits
of waking memories 
soured by time
and logic curdled 
by broken promises 
that bubble up 
like the gas
of putrid decay 
when will these
too sleep and 
take their place 
at the bottom 
of the lake 

Had I
known that 
this was
ever before 
I wouldn’t 
have had 
as this 
has happened 
only after 
had had
its way 

The longer I don’t 
the less I do 
funny this sitting watching 
as others ride on 
the merry go round 
up and down they
go gladly giddily laughing 
heads thrown back looking 
for the ones with 
the cameras hoping to 
capture a memory moment 
and I sitting with 
my coffee and croissant 
happy that I’m not 
this little aloneside bench
is enough for me 

You’ve been pushed 
put and placed
behind the others 
on some shelf 
out of sight 
frequently forgotten rarely 
remembered until if
and never when 
I stumble across 
like a book
in a nook 
or a treasure 
bought in leisure 

It’s in these
wee hours when 
looking upon thee
thinking of me
I truly be 
in this time 
you are mine 
I am thine
and this kind 
of thing is
what dreams tis
be made of