We were legendary, dear, doubt it never

King and queen of fourteen-liners and verse

Time moves on, yet in the reflection of that moment

Printed in books with our names . . . we were great

How was it we lost admiration for each other?

Competition? No. Complication. Life

Got in our way of living. I would love to say

There was no fault . . . but my guilt stains like blood

And you let me crucify myself

On that piteous altar of self-loathing

Without reaching out – and for good reason:

Because he who before was your Romeo

Became Narcissus with a gun in his mouth

And blew away any chance of healthy ending.

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