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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.
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