All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life

I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes

Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like

My heart was paper
 now folded six times over
 to make it harder
 to tear
 I only hope that


Everyday I lived out a song written just for you But you could

I say hello and you say nothing You may hear me you may even think of a response

I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face

You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did

The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight