sail on

old loves
die hard. they are crawling
through
the desert of lost
relationships.
abandoned
and circling.
taking the cup of water
you dole out
on occasion
that gives them
hope.
massaging their soul
with the mirage
of maybe.
the oasis of let's wait
and see,
the beginning of a new
day,
another try,
once more.
the desert is full of them.
I can see
them
in the hot dry sand,
crawling on their hands
and knees
as I sail
off into the sunset,
the mast full of a cool
breeze
with drink in hand.