Past is Past

Each night before I sleep I hear your voice
and wish that I could feel your spoken breath
Imagination fills the lesser choice
for now. My second life began with death
I still remember life before I died
I knew you in my first life, missed the chance
For that it was a waste; I should have tried
to be your lover when my circumstance
consisted of my body in your car
consisted of your car outside my place
the night we touched in slow-dance at the bar
the night you longed for more than my embrace
The past is past; my second life is this:
fullfilment of my chances, like your kiss.

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