Good-bye is a lie;
for there is nothing good about it--
at the end of Sunday
you drove away, &
instead of smiling I pouted.
You're gone-- yet still linger in my room--
the scent of your hair
etched in the air--
"Damn weekend's over too soon!"
I miss you, Ms. You--
do you? Do
you love me, lovely,
as I do you.
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