like a tangerine in time,
I still dream about ya
twice a week.
humble yet hidden,
I still draw your name
across the beaches
upon which I sleep with other women.
even though you're gone,
like a recycled bottle of wine,
I still have a bench
tattooed on my right bicep.
strong and still,
I move through this world,
witnessing weird little reminders
signifying that we were once real.
even though you're gone,
like a lost buffalo song,
I still pine for you
in secret services like this.