A smile, given just to me--
To only, rather, those of certain...
Qualities, or things we do--
I know that he received it too.
The echoes of your touch still thrill me
Though I'll touch you nevermore
For joy has somehow left for loathing
Angst or jealousy, no forgiving,
Incompatible ways of living
My memories, so oft idyllic:
Do they echo what was there?
Life with you was not so perfect...
I hold myself to what's still true
But dream imperfect dreams of you