I’ve loved another day.

Once, I fell for a poet.

The second time around, 

he taught me to write things down,

no matter how they sound.  

I learned to say things like: 

I lost my heart away to another glance.

It was black, white and grey. 

Just like William Blake’s. 

To the cowboy that lassoed 

My orgasms away 

One 

     By[e] One. 

To think I stole them back. 

Framed them by the wall, 

to wait around and see 

who’ll round them off. 

The crystal of his lens, 

the glass, for days. 

Birds, just chirp secrets 

and his lies away. 

Tongue tied tight.

Twisters trying enunciation

just to end up finding,

the entitlement to end it. 

Did he know? 

Was he aware?

I just took his words to try and say: 

I’ve loved another day.