the absolute last time i shall ever write about you ever (until the next time I write about you)

Too much time has been given
to your face and the way you breathe,
or at least the way I remember it
before leagues of desperation and ground
swallowed what could have been.

So two frames were arched,
each a path of its own design
which never coalesce into a single destination,
and continue to haunt the waking hours
I spend longing to trek down it.

Too much time has been wasted conjuring
images of careless laughter and timid smiles,
so much that this is the last time I’m going
to allow your ghost to visit me
in that vapor form memory so often is guised.

Somewhere I know it’s the same kind of promise
a drunkard makes to the bottle,
only taking it up again to feel that
artificial warmth that can never quite take
your place, but fills the spot all the same.

Too much time has been devoted to fleeting causes
in your name, so I’ll write it finally
Just one excuse,
to conjure that face before it’s completely
and utterly burned.