I’m getting trapped in repeatability. always <br />the same thoughts, the same moves. maybe it’s <br />too late to learn embroidery or cooking, to remember <br />new words, pattern of poetry, or your laughter. <br /> <br />wisdom accrues with age. I cannot agree, <br />but at least I have something to wonder about <br />when driving on an empty street, expecting you <br />to be next to me, changing radio stations, making me <br /> <br />believe in fate. (your fate had red hair and lacked a sense <br />of humor.) anger is under my skin, <br />but it doesn’t emerge. it creates another layer, making <br />me resist you. let’s make love one last time. <br /> <br />I should change you as I change lipstick <br />without hesitation. novelties don’t fit me, <br />but at least I can try. never setting the alarm again <br />but still waking up early. too late for replay.<br /><br />Ivona Sophia<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/deja-vu-3/
