Remember the day when
we said we'd flock to the
beautiful fields and pluck
a bunch or two of wild peonies?

My subconscious conjures up your
cheerful soprano trilling sadly, "See, I
escaped my mother's beating today
all she managed was knife flying
across the room, hilariously off-target
missing my neck, and hitting my shin,
here's the scar, come and see."

And now I'm sitting alone under
the serene shade of a banyan tree
right beside the field we promised
to sing and play my guitar in.

(I'm still sitting alone)

I must remember, don't let me forget
even for a second that my memories
are no more than a mere mirage
because you're no longer who you used to be.

(Or maybe because those moments play in
my mind, delicate flashbacks, blurred at
the edges, hanging now by a single peony)

Let me pick at the petals

I miss you
I miss you not
I miss you
I miss you not
I miss you
I miss you not

Oh wait, I'm out of petals

Hmm...I'll just start with another peony.

I miss you not
I miss you
I miss you not
I miss you
I miss you not
I miss you

Well, I have an entire field to finish.