I miss you
Between froth foamed sips
And mochas we might have tasted
In the delineation of the lines,
A journal we might have bought
Me for you, you for me
I miss you
In the streets
Peasant fairs, their art against the sidewalk,
Your hand pressed to mine
Miss you in the silence,
Between speech and breathing
Before the angry words
Child like and outbursts
Before the hate
I miss you

But I can’t afford to miss you anymore . . .

(requiem for a dream . . . that never was)