I've lost a paper
With your poem
Which
Was my favorite,
And then
I've wrote a song
Around this poem
About the lyrics
I've forgotten,
About the words
Begotten
By you alone.
(Are you alone?
Begone!
Too bound,
Constrained
And dead halt
To even talk to you
I am)
Why shout of it?
Of memories of sand
And of my memoirs
Of tempora amoris,
Which now are even more obscure
Due to forgetting curve?
Because of queer feel of guilt,
As I had robbed you.
So say ”Tilt“,
Don't cure, but curse me, my hand is
Still on your purse.
My cat still wanders
Where are you,
Pursuing, catching birds and moths
And gently letting them away
As they were words of yours.
I've lost a paper
With your poem
Which was my favorite
I guess.
So please excuse me.
(Not forgive,
For there is nothing else to give
From you
To me)
From me
To you,
September twenty eight,
Twenty thirteen
Infinity is on the other end.