To Happen

It’s no use pretending that it didn’t happen.

And it will keep on happening.

Scotch crazy and martini wild

days of secret tears and bad imagination.

Acid-washed nights in torn memories–faded

blue jeans frayed and dragging the street like the

Fear and hopeless

pain in my soul’s heart.

I want you back. Please try. C’mon.

For me?

The gray marble slab tells the world

that it’s over―and been over for two full

moons.  You’re gone, it says.

I say no.

Not just no, but Hell no.

I want  us

To happen again.