I’m getting trapped in repeatability. always
the same thoughts, the same moves. maybe it’s
too late to learn embroidery or cooking, to remember
new words, pattern of poetry, or your laughter.
wisdom accrues with age. I cannot agree,
but at least I have something to wonder about
when driving on an empty street, expecting you
to be next to me, changing radio stations, making me
believe in fate. (your fate had red hair and lacked a sense
of humor.) anger is under my skin,
but it doesn’t emerge. it creates another layer, making
me resist you. let’s make love one last time.
I should change you as I change lipstick
without hesitation. novelties don’t fit me,
but at least I can try. never setting the alarm again
but still waking up early. too late for replay.
Ivona Sophia
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/deja-vu-3/
