it is 1:47 a.m. est.
I was writing a couple poems and almost turned the computer off and there it is 2.0 and this is the moment that the last poem was written on 1.1.2
why is it
i am sure
there is
someone who longs for this
to be theirs
and yet it is yours
without question
it is yours as i
stare blankly
at the screen
beyond what
i have left
and it is in that
crystal moment
that i know you
are gone
and not because
of obstruction
i could create
because if you
wanted
then nothing
would matter
and you would know
gentle sweetness