I think of you.
Every now and then–
I do.

Like a branch swaying to a gust of wind,
I cannot help but sway to you.

It’s not that I’m powerless,
but that I want to–
feel the gust of our past,
and be taken back to you.

Tiny creatures on a plane so vast,
slithering skin, iridescent eyes.

I don’t love you.
I can say that now;
for loving you would imply more,
to us, and the dance we’d danced–
but I am hopeful;
my heart is still mine–
no longer your captive,
no longer must I–
roll boulders in futile stupor,
up the mountain of our love.

I think of you.
Every now and then–
I do.