In that roundabout way
that people go from day to day
I followed you.

Your music, your books, your voice
I was swept up in your jetstream
waiting around for a knock on my door
and your postponed affection

waiting
Until the day I recognized the look in my mirror
as desperation
not delight

That night I blew out the candle
and went happily to sleep, alone

for oenone, by request.

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