it would be so easy to walk back
but it is smarter to move on
and remember the frustration
to forget the warm of waking up
with your bare flesh warm against me
before you put a shirt on
when there was still the possibility
of yet another entanglement
nights of passion followed by mornings
of warmth never happened as much
as i would like, but i could aim
my thoughts at them and once again
i would be clinging to the all the time
i could get
instead i will remember the frustration
of how you never seemed to have much time
for nights of passion/mornings of warmth
or how you seemed
to forget about me
for a week
and, of course, the others
that took time from me
Some sadness in this poem that is written down in the disguise of frustration. The title says it all...we choose the path of our memories. And yes, we write the sadness and the anger and the pain out...writing is therapy! A poem that made me think - thanks for this!
Kind regards
Nicolette