every song with you,
but I can't
because you can't.
You-know-what becomes
you-remember-when
really, very quickly,
and I buy out my
restaurant investment
in Portland.
Granola bars are never as good
as real bars or love,
and I wrote you a song,
but I don't know how
to sing it or play it twice.
When I die,
you won't know
or probably care,
but then again
what are supposed to feel
when ex-lovers die?
nothing or something or everything,
from songs to serenades,
and this morning smelled
like a morning in 2012,
which made me sad and happy,
it's okay to be okay with being okay.