deepundergroundpoetry.com
The preciousness of preciousness.
I never had the chance to tell you,
well, I had so many chances to tell you
but you're not one for deep sentiments,
you just like deep holes and deep intellects but;
I knew this would come, in between the morning
crows of here and the nights clouds of your roof
I saw the wandering gaze of someone who wasn't lost,
but realised they wanted to be and there I was, ready to be the cement
that gave you footing and a foundation, when I should have just given
you more fuel to burn away any attachments to this place.
So I guess, if any regrets I have, if I am to feel it;
that I didn't give up something precious
to preserve the preciousness
of you any sooner.
She wrote it in cursive
with a 2b pencil
on a crisp white sheet
stained with eraser marks
torn out from a moleskin notepad
and i found it
in my suitcase
two months later
after her funeral.
well, I had so many chances to tell you
but you're not one for deep sentiments,
you just like deep holes and deep intellects but;
I knew this would come, in between the morning
crows of here and the nights clouds of your roof
I saw the wandering gaze of someone who wasn't lost,
but realised they wanted to be and there I was, ready to be the cement
that gave you footing and a foundation, when I should have just given
you more fuel to burn away any attachments to this place.
So I guess, if any regrets I have, if I am to feel it;
that I didn't give up something precious
to preserve the preciousness
of you any sooner.
She wrote it in cursive
with a 2b pencil
on a crisp white sheet
stained with eraser marks
torn out from a moleskin notepad
and i found it
in my suitcase
two months later
after her funeral.
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