Room for Rent;

Here for a good time, perhaps not a long time;
Sometimes our gold years just don’t quite align.

One man’s beginning is another woman’s aftermath;
The scythe of time tearing wheat from the chaff.

The shuttle carries my thread across your weaving;
We all show love through different ways of leaving.

Our hearts have a limited capacity, apparently;
Yours seemed filled with a dozen distant histories.

An angry seaside infant with sand slipping between;
I can’t keep the cork sealed on champagne dreams.


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