Here in a photo album

beside the bed you

will find your long-ago friend

way back when he had just begun

to read the book,

when he was young with youth, dancing

in the flamboyant air, walking

in flamenco steps,

hosanna, hosanna, my messiah is come.


If I could dry him in the sun, spice him

and store him in a pickle jar for

a while longer I would’ve,

but I could not stop time.

I couldn’t keep him preserved just the way you like.

He read on, page after page,

the tales’ tragic tragedies.


Truth is the heaviest cross to bear.

You’re not the only one disappointed in change.

You’re not the only one hurt.

He looks at the picture and can barely recognise

the day you promised promises.


It changes everything, love.

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