Chapter 1
postscripts from the past a thousand letters waiting
and each one holding memories of you
pictures from an album and me out picking flowers
while you were singing songs that tore my heart to shreds
and all those younger girl things that I was always thinking
as I laid my head upon the bed of roses that you made
some little park in Brooklyn where I would see you sitting
with me beside a stream that my mind somehow created
and now those younger girl things
are nothing more than daydreams
that I still find somewhere
behind a box of yesterday’s
kept hidden for too long
