Another old love poem written on a cold afternoon in a coffee shop somewhere.

 

The third poem I write for you

will be a pretty snowflake

resting on your sleeve,

so small you don’t notice

but there all the same.

 

The third poem will be bright and full

a siren that brings life

like a cup of coffee that you buy me

and in a moment

the world is our shining carousel.

 

The third poem will be Lewis and Clark brave

telling you all about how

I’m almost about to be falling

in ill-timed love with you

and though I’m the one who’s leaving

You’re the one that is slipping

through my fingers.

 

The third poem I write for you

will be the one that you see.

I’ll leave it on your car or slip it into your hand

or give it to you as a gift,

my goodbye letter,

and you’ll read it and chase after me,

in my mind.