and she likes me
only in circles
and only
on the whim of her occassion.
and as always if there is
much work for little joy
and there is no vlaue left for you to propose
then the circle
will not unravel will not
break linear.

and you are
a beautiful mess, to me at
least, bits and pieces of who I loved mixed
with someone that I do not know, and who cares little
for more.

and so I stretch, laugh-yawning, tossing
this silly leash into the fresh smile of the sun.

and it's now less riddle than history, less flame more
dim, as I watch you fall away, as I let you fall far
and away, and I stand
up, unclutter aching and sore
joints exhausted from months of bended knee, and
this freedom excites me, to be so free of you,
you who I would have given my world to, but with so many
stars in such great space, there is no reason
left, to wish
on any flash of light in your orbit, be well
my dear
be well.