My dreams are all about her sex,
and these little happenings
no longer bring me joy.
I'm as blue as worn jeans
as I find my thoughts
endlessly migrate toward nothing.
I wish I could tell
the story of a sacred message
of what we could've shared
but it keeps fading away
and no matter how hard I chase,
my legs can't go fast enough.
Lover, lover, you treat me wrong.
You should've been here all along,
and now the words
I tried to write about you
have become nothing more than
a poem heading nowhere.
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