Red Sails in the Sunset how I coined the phrase that marks your memory deep red ink in my book of poetry This isn't goodbye This is acknowledging a faulty compass that led me to your shore Where I lingered too long losing sight of what was real. You were ever so briefly just a mirage not meant to last that did not last. Boldly, proudly, I wrote how I am all the more fully realized for recognizing so for stepping through and closing that door. Meekly and weakly, stumbling over supposedly burnt bridges Drawing blood on pale silks, skinned knees and torn up palms I'd still crawl over the mess bewitched by your charms and crawl back to your mirage. Each page, red ink, a different story, a different version 2.0 was lost long ago and replaced, again and again and again Funny how the saved feature erases or adds on As I'll save another you as another note in my memory book.