I and I

Sometimes I miss me,

when I think of the things I have squandered.

A gifted sourdough starter

a colourless sunset,

chicken thighs gone to rot on the bone.

I don’t forget you, dear friend

I don’t forget how you cared.

We moved so quickly

when the days were longer,

the rain warmer

and the nights sharper.

I can taste the way we were,

the smell of wet tobacco,

smoke rolling over our lips,

while empty wine bottles gathered on the steps.

I’d like to make a promise,

 to spend time the way we used to.

But I’ve promised more than I can fulfill,

and there’s a new you in the doorway

but I know, I will see you at the end of each rainbow.