Roses no longer grow
on your skin so I borrowed
the scent of something made in France.
I am learned now, a little older.
My eyebrows no longer
sweat with innocence.
Silence replaced what used to be
long talks that spill into the inklings
of a brand new day. It seems
as well that I have forgotten
how it is to be sad and brooding
over some sad thoughts of yesterday.
I have lost count of the CDs I own
and all the music I loaned
or borrowed from you before.
Post-It Notes no longer
mysteriously appear on your
computer screen or refrigerator door.
I am no longer surprised
of the reason why you count
the waves that break into your shores.
After all we do not sing
"Windmills of your Mind"
together anymore.
