What was it I came here looking for,

the opportunity to seek redemption,

for reaching Middle-Age with some resemblance

to passing, fading youth still intact,

before, like dust that gets lodged in the corner

of the eye, that sticks determined to the vestige

of the previous day, it is dislodged

and flicked casually without

a second glance

into the awaiting gutter on the street.

 

I once came here looking for ghosts,

I came here for a memory of you,

the sweet taste of bitter regret,