rearranged over time, without trace

its just like me to say ‘never mind, but i bet that your lips taste like fermented wine’.  and the wind in the trees has accused me of lies, like an overture changed, rearranged over time. 

its just like me to forget you and remember too late.   only when the sun sets and i conjure your face.  i’ve got dreams and machines in my mind, they don’t change, just like breezes remain, that’s how long i will stay. 

its just like me to heed my body, and ignore whats before me, the sins i commit that i know i’ll abhor but it never too late to restate that i’m yours. 

or maybe it is now, but november remains in my memory unchanged like that opus i wrote, when i slept in your bed for too long, it was summer then, and i dreamed every night that you swung me like a pendulum, starry boy without rhyme.  what do you mean when you teach me your lies, and i suddenly see myself suspended, like you were, upside down and crucified, and saint peter wouldn’t look you in the eye, not even a smile crossed your bloodshot eyes and it seems like a nightmare now, only you’ll be surprised to know i recognized you, even then. 

its just like me to write you a verse without a trace of the love that i know must appear on your face when you read me, you think that you see me, an age-old distraction, thats all poetry means.