untitled poem

perhaps what-if

I am your ‘perhaps’
you ponder in a lonely night
You are my ‘what if’
I have trouble sleeping at night.

I am what you tell your friends
as the one that got away.
You are the Skinny Love
I listen to every night and day.

You whisper my names
when you have one too many drinks
I search for your lips
in the smoke of cigarettes I inhale.

After all,
our dream of becoming
Desmond and Molly Jones 
turned out to be
a hopeless agenda.

Because in life,
we can’t simply take 
Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da
when we want some fun,
can we?

— z.bastien

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