Strung-out haiku

You disappoint me,
but not as much as myself.
Here’s to a new year.

You disappoint me,
and you take more than you give.
But you always did.

You disappoint me,
but I cannot blame just you.
We both made the mess.

You disappoint me,
and that is the common thread.
You have made your bed.

You disappoint me,
but not as much as myself.
Here’s to a new year.

-L.R.Y.
(1/17/18)
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Tangible

Loving you
used to be tangible,
but we
missed the metamorphosis
from there to here,
where it is too hard to
bridge the gap
across my center console.
You are
a stranger now,
though I used to know your every part,
and shadows of our former selves
play in corners of my mind,
moving much too fast
for me to nail them to the wall.
Loving you
used to be tangible,
but there’s not much love left here at all.

-L.R.Y.
(11/21/17)

The new year is overrated

Let’s not fool ourselves:
we have never known simplicity.
The appeal was in the twists,
in the way we tangled ourselves together.
I wanted you to smother me and
then breathe me back to life.

Let’s not fool ourselves:
we have never known simplicity.
The disillusion comes in waves now,
and our tangles have unraveled into
parallel lines that never cross.
We are nothing more than stacked clichés
toppling a balance we never had.  

-L.R.Y.

We cannot rewrite our story

I long for a time when
things were simpler than now,
but I suppose everything is relative.
We have always been
a dozen broken promises,
wrapped for safekeeping
before the gasoline meets flame.
Up we go,
offered to the gods of
love and wine and hindsight,
and when I look back now,
I see a dozen different ways
this could have ended,
though it ended just the same.

-L.R.Y.
(4/17/17)

Addicts are all the same

This time is
the last time:

the last time I will see
the way your eyes look when you smile,
the last time I will feel
the heat of your hand on my thigh,
the last time I will memorize
the cadence of your voice in my ear.

This time is
always the last time,

except to an addict,
and I am addicted to you.

-L.R.Y.
(5/24/17)

And then I blinked

Autumn reminds me of who you used to be –
brand new and full of mystery,
an unknown quantity of possibility.

The mornings were crisp,
and I remember lying in bed with you
as daylight broke,
and before you awoke,
I knew I was exactly where I wanted to be.

But winter will come quickly,
and who you are now is
just a shadow of the man I used to know.

-L.R.Y.