every meeting,
chance
is also a mirror

kneeling at our alter egos
with blasphemy and pride
showering ourselves with
pious affections

we met
with our backs to each other
arms outstretched
to our memories

we grew together
made love to our wounds
gingerly held out our hearts

neverland

we both fell in love with
differing views of the same
poppy field

opiates that made us
numb to each other

sorrow comes in a chance

sadness for a lack of
reason to be

the lightswitch that was never thrown

© Tom Watters  2/13/07