August 3, 2024Poem

Nevertheless, I wish her well.

love

Nevertheless, I wish her well.

You loved me

For reasons

I could never fathom

You counted on me

I counted on my fingers

There was often a recount.

Nothing ever adds up

To the total

Of mistakes we make

No matter the equation

X always remains

Unknown

Even when it hits a spot

Inked in blood

The answer remains

Just beyond

Our grasp

No matter how many fingers

We possess

The answer

Is most probably

X is equal to Y

Minus the one

That got away.