CAN’T TALK ANYMORE IN THE OLD WAY

CAN’T TALK ANYMORE IN THE OLD WAY

On the days I'd go to visit.
I knew
she would be free.

In the mornings she'd do
the Sun Salute,
and in
the evenings
make peppermint tea.

I first caught sight of
her in the designer sea,
when she was captive in her
swim suit
and the water beckoned me.

On crowded nights she'd
calm me down
with all I expected and without
any sound.

And on days
like this, when the coast is clear,
I'd travel
up to see her there.
Then back at
dawn to my place, here,
by morning I would repair.

On days like this I'd visit her,
when her lover was
elsewhere.

And into the darkness I would slip,
until she ceased
to care.