When you loved me, it seemed too good to be true.
Seeming makes things better. It was finally not to be.
Our self-loves overlapped, creating the new.
It didn’t last. You left me to my seeming and my poetry.
The love which seemed like love only lasted for awhile.
It only seemed I belonged to your kisses and your smile.
Not since infancy, bathed by mother-love, had I felt like this.
It is that, and hoping for that, of which most lives consist.
We only loved ourselves, but it was beautiful, indeed.
Most want that feeling. It’s our highest need.
It was too good to be true! It was too good to be true!
Death is like being hugged when no one is hugging you.