To him, with indifference
I gave freedom.
He had it already.
He played the tunes we’d listened to in bed. There was
Comfort against many strangers.
The old intimacy, but not quite.
Fascination, for the shifting portrait I drew.
An unfinished episode.
But not dependence.
Forgetting isn’t easy, even now with you.
He was a game I couldn’t win.
If I’d had him and you in either palm,
I wouldn’t even keep a silence once a year,
I wouldn’t ever yearn,
This was a poem I wrote a very long time ago. I was thinking, how little things have changed. It could have been about so many relationships I’ve had since. Playing games I couldn’t win. I have to break the mould!!