by Gregory Wilde  /  poetry  /  29 Jan 2009
Sara, I think of you today.
A song on the radio plays your name.
Violin and guitar we once were,
Combination of lovers in key.
When you don't return my phone calls,
It feels like this love
Has finally taken its course.
Yellow never felt so pale.
I shave my face and drive my car.
Some days I think of you.
The blood in my eyes is deeper.
Now I'm blinded again.
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