Summer In Anchorage
Realizing
I'll never have another
like you,
I simmer in the sound
of new age music
and read old love letters
as if they were lyrics.
I hum, then start to sing
those clichéd poems you wrote for me
behind the celtic violin—
all those forced and obvious rhymes
strike me
in a different way than before.
You really did love me
and I really did light up your life
like the sun, as you said.
But if only you knew
that the sun always sets in the west
like me, when I left for Alaska—
for a lonely
one room apartment
in Anchorage.
The sun stays for days
in the summer, here
but I'm still cold.
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