i never could have lasted, if my final stand
weren't such a submission.
i wouldn't even be in this place:
it's nothing like home

i remember home because it looked like
Paris in the springtime, where i left you.
you didn't deserve Paris then

and now- it's just too far to say
except i miss the long horizon
and late dinners. but nothing about you,

comes to mind. so don't mind me
when i desert this. this empty, illogical
feeling: you and i aren't.