I find myself trying not to think of you.
But when the night is quiet
except for the keening call of
a lone mourning dove
I realize that you remain
a memory, an
incessant
buzz in the back of my brain.
And nothing more.
I find myself trying not to think of you.
But when the night is quiet
except for the keening call of
a lone mourning dove
I realize that you remain
a memory, an
incessant
buzz in the back of my brain.
And nothing more.