aisle

the silence of then and now seems

especially strong, looking back on

my emails with frivolous titles

my signing off, and the nature

of how you seemed to see me.

maybe we had love, but

it seemed grandeur to

be just that, to be that at all.

although, does this make me feel

any better, returning to this writing

my material love that's grown bland, replaceable?

my simple rate, soon I'll be walking my pen down the aisle

and you won't be the one objecting