I’ll be the anecdote he shares one day about what a mistake it was to date a poet

And it's funny don't you hear me laughing?

I immortalized every lock of your hair in verse it became your strength, the thread that held us together I am a weaver with words, but

It's hard to understand

And my meaning isn't clear.

I won't call you babe, but I'll call you the miracle, the futility, of the sunlight's endless yearning to reach the pavement just to be blocked by me, her quest unfulfilled, and the way I tried so hard to soak her up, to make her become a part of me, to compensate for the fact that I ended her pilgrimage, tried to consume her like sunbeams on a plant. I'm a sponge on your still falling tears while you were just the jar that collected them.