Of all the regrets
that sprout tendrils
and cling steadfastly
I lament the gentle wit
which lilted off your silver tongue
simmered under your salted hair
and kindled the purest of hearts
I tripped on the potholes under your window
while you foundered on the fifth floor
peeling potatoes for
your sailor husband's new girl
in the desert of my mind
your fusion of culture and lore
swept through and cleansed me
leaving a gaping wadi
you opened the world of Likhachev to me
but I lost and squandered
our friendship and my head
in a foolish girlish sacrifice
how I miss you
our lives admonish our daughters:
never, ever, lose
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