The spice of life.

Seeing your face again,
irrational,
I masturbated violently -
oh shame of my failure
you thing left undone.

Last I'd heard your ghost went to Denmark,
a far cry from Franklin St and
an untimely end to our star-cross'd affair.

Now here I find you are
barely two hours south.

The irony is palpable.

So much so that I came,
cleaned off,
and wrote a poem
all about
it.