I wish to write of romance,
but I find no chance.
Beautiful it could be, but of flowers,
would remind me of my past lovers.
I stop as soon as I start,
drawning in memories of my first.
The way she kiss,
sure that I miss.
not what I wish to talk.
Perhaps I should write about us,
and forget about cars.
What are we but dust,
manipulating words to make it art.
I guess that is my first,
a factitious way to forget my past.
Will that really work?
maybe, but it’s my first mark.