About a quarter century ago,
I met a man amusing and so smart
I wanted to be with him, even though
he packed a gun and phobias. My heart
indulged him through some mania and rants,
but we were not in sync. We dulled to friends.
He sought the solitude the desert grants.
We seldom spoke again; we’d other ends.

I recollect his keen intensity,
the time he said he wanted me beside
him when he died. That struck me recently –
I listened to a message, and I tried
to call him at the number I last had –
I found his phone was gone. Is he? I’m sad…

This entry was posted in Aging, Love, Personality, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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