Lobsters don't mate for life so You're not my lobster,
you're something more hanging on like a barnacle
like a penguin or a seahorse. who knows nothing of romance.
Let's go back to the beach, Trying to recreate what we once had,
fall asleep listening to the ebb and flow the give and take,
watching people try to keep sand together, you have to understand that
castles come out of grains, eventually it falls apart.
and they'll build them again tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to stay on the plane
Let's forget about yesterday with all your ex-wives and
thinking I loved them. these ideas that you were different.
I have a beautiful imagination You should love me for that,
(but I couldn't dream up) that night in the planetarium
my high school dream girl and I was still that girl to you
the girl that could be a paleontologist's wife. but I could feel in my bones
This was not everything, that there was another time for us,
us living in the suburbs not you just as my friend's brother
sipping coffee on the same old couches in the same old coffeehouse.
where I didn't plan on dying Dare I say
with all of our F•R•I•E•N•D•S. this is it for us.
On to bigger and better things, We'll always have our happy accident
making happy on-purposes now in a new place.
we can call our home. I'm taking her to Paris.
I don't have to worry about my heart There are promises worth
breaking.
Emily Sperber is a poet and short story writer working as a bookseller in Seattle. Some of her work has been featured in Miniskirt Magazine, Hobart, Rattle, and Owl Canyon Hackathon anthologies.
