Each step takes me from your eyes;
my imagination reminds me of a clear lime green,
blending all the rest.
Never truth, only what I want to see,
only what I think to remember.
What was mediocre seems fantastic,
since in passion lies danger.
Your body was "I love you,"
my response, "forever."
But now, I move on,
and the fantasy fades.
Stepping to taste the air in front of me,
it is only the same air I have left behind.
to Issue 1, 1999