Before I go home,
knowing my complex definition
has been altered by erstwhile
thieves and anxious lovers
(absolutely one in the same),
let me speak.
Let me speak.
No,
at 3 o’clock in the morning,
let me whisper
bygone intentions
I once believed, or was fooled
into believing.
I am a fool;
not am imbecile: a difference
not greater than thieves
or lovers.
It’s a theory that will
keep me awake
well into the night.

j.g.l.