the world before you is one that’s foreign to me,
like an ancient civilization you’ve once heard in
your childhood but have never learned anything
about. the world after you? i’ll never come to learn
it – my world begins and ends with you; in fact,
i've already categorized my memoir into sections,
a time before you,
coming to terms with it (except it’ll be empty,
and the book will end).
art mimics real life;
except the sun never sets,
and you’re still there in the morning.
another napowrimo poem that i didn't post on here.