For all that I go days now love,
without a thought of you…
Sometimes I remember you fondly, love—
just for a second,
maybe two—
for all that I go days now love,
without a thought of you.

The conversation’s boring love;
I just can’t fucking talk about weather
with people drenched in books,
for all that I am drenched in books, whatever
love, I’ve not a clue.
I just know
that I go days now, love
without a thought of you…

except for a second, maybe two.
With charity I lacked back then,
I think, thank fuck! For all that you
lacked the courage to tell me when
your love was split in three or two,
at least you never bored me, love.

You see I sometimes think of you.

But fondly now, no trace left, love,
of bitter fights or sordid flings;
the pressed rose finds its thorns are crushed;
the dead bee has no sting.

You see I sometimes think of you
but only for a moment, dear.
I’ve learned to say goodbye with grace—
the bitter outcome of those years.