On Regrets:
Early September
Early morning
Early demise of whatever we had
He tells me of his regrets
But I can’t think of even one
If it meant never being held by him
Painfully fleeting though it was
Shooting stars
Brilliant and brief
He names them one by one
Etchings on the stone wall
Of his mausoleum memory
And I
The living dead
Don’t realize he’s already
Dug a grave just my size
One more regret
Living on his breath
Maybe someday
He’ll tell another girl my name