Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Late Night Poetry

I was listening to the
same music, then, ten
years ago... late at night,
soaking in a different
bathtub, on the verge of
something great.

Truthfully, I haven't
written poetry in quite
some time (it's a shame,
really).  But there is
something familiar in
the chords ringing out,
in the hot water up to
my chin, the steam on
the mirror.

There is more to it, there
always is.  And in this case,
it's him.  Because it has always
been him, and always will be.

Because seven and a half
years ago, I fell in head over
heels in love and haven't

falling.  (Here's hoping that
feeling lasts forever.)

Perhaps a change of
scenery will do wonders
for the muse.  (She's been
in hibernation for quite

some time, now.)  The
details are still up in the
air but I am optimistic,


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