I'll have to stop thinking of you; <br />it is too much like kissing a dying rose <br />or speaking into a void <br />hearing only my own echos. <br /> <br />It is too teen-aged sad <br />to obsess like this; <br />memorizing your phone number backwards, <br />counting the steps to your house, <br />taping your photo inside my bra, <br />making up excuses <br />to be where you are, <br />or might be, <br />lingering <br />long after it is clear <br />you're not there, <br />and not coming. <br /> <br />I'll have to snip these little traces of you from my mind; <br />remove your after-shave from the medicine cabinet, <br />cease discreetly inquiring of you <br />from mutual friends <br />whilst I pretend, <br />no real interest. <br /> <br /> <br />But they are not fooled; <br />they see this obsession's grip <br />and I'm sure silently lament <br />my entanglement in its delicate cords. <br /> <br /> <br />And I, on my part, <br />while acknowledging it is odd and maybe unhealthy <br />for me to behave like this, <br />my Hearts Heart <br />knows what I really feel- <br />which is its better to have these memories <br />than to inhabit some memory less void. <br /> <br />No, better to wrap you lovingly <br />among my Gentle Regrets <br />than sleep with a dying rose <br />slowly bleeding <br />from its pin-prick thorns.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sleeping-with-roses/
