That freckle on your upper lip - a poem by me.

Sweet love, young love, not merely as young as we
thought,
a kind of love that haunts us both,
at night,
at dawn.

We can get through the day,

but not alone,
for our memories keep each other still,
that slow dance we shared, that letter we wrote
and both kept safe.

I try and refute it – I am at the point

of despair
things left unsaid, things better not said,
so reckless with your ways.

That stained sheet, that same dinner we shared,

that I eat over and over again, without you,
those dates on the calendar that are thus
insensitive to my heart.

Unspoken requited love, malicious and cruel –
audacious, long- suffering moody,
this love is sweetly sour; I don’t know if I prefer it?
i do know that when my mind is at its most erratic,
the thought of you sobers it sane.