Before you, there were other poems.
I had tried for simplicity
only trust was not so simple.
I have always known it to be somewhere
between a game and an obligation,
a question that emerges on a whim
verges on a wish, and shatters like an
ornament when pressed inside of storage.
I had tried for other abstractions,
ambition, sympathy, kindness,
but all were fleeting, You see, I was always
distracted by dormant potential.
Fires were always starting while I was sleeping
burning through fibers of books, flannel sheets,
sweaters, unfinished poems, beings.
And the water I drink
washed away what did not matter.
Before you, I had other tastes, the turquoise
of sunset against my mouth, minor chords
inside my ear. And I loved the music,
but it was not simple and it was not you.