Most certainly it is some awful anniversary
of another soul betrayal carried out
with precise, perfunctory proclamation.

I pretend to have forgotten you by now,
of course. I pretend so many things, and
I won't pretend to sort it out here.

They tell me the ache of lonely, wretched
inability to find some sheltering tree
will shave a decade off my life.

If I didn't know any better by now,
perhaps it would make me, desperate, 
run faster, further into wild unknown.

But if I have come to accept anything
it is that there is no not loving you.
Even in sweet sleep of forgtefulness

A porcupine seed of splintering pain
punctures any hope of my presumed
happiness on winding path to possibility.

I have been brave, though, having
staved off demons that pounce to prey
on a heart ravished by swath of emptiness.

And while there has been so little
love or hope or opportunity, I've said
always I believe and reached...

Bewildered by my desert life, I thirst
for morsel of companionship. Even I long for
someone who will sit and share the space.

I wish for the end, long for new beginning
and walk on with hands outstretched,
only wanting to find again my friend.

Do you remember him?