maybe it’s strange how life
worked out this way, like
how i can’t deny your face
burned into my brain
with razor sharp precision.
or how most starry nights
lying atop a tiled roof
wrapped in anonymity
i watched each exhale
trail upwards as warm vapor
only to disappear into cool air
as the next october breeze
blew past my best laid plans.
and now, how most days
it’s a fight to keep
focused on the task at hand
without seeing your face
burned into this brain
white hot like a brand
on each page of my memory.
