A Piece for Lovers

There is a toll to be paid to exit East Bay.

And there’s a tale to be told in the lies we laid,

Wove in the paved stones we made man made

Through days of trust rusted heart’s way into-

Brain red dust and a sentimental imperfectly formed love.           

I rhyme time with crime

Roll on to the next stumbling line.

While I bide my time.

Wait for time to change the line.

As it goes on again and again and-

I don’t have a line the rhyme is dead.

For it was we

Till you made me

Only me

Solo me

No more we

‘Cause you see

We ceased to be