I used to carry a diamond
right here in my hand, I just know it,
a diamond, remember?
we used to hold it up to the sun.
you laughed at how silly I was
when I got distracted by the light’s
clean reflection, this happened,
I used to carry a diamond.
You have to remember, you loved it as I did,
a diamond that had grown in our hands.
I know it sounds foolish, you must think
that it could not have been, not so
perfect, so pure, so worth all the world-
this diamond of ours, this cold coal kiss
this bliss everlasting, what happened, what
happened, I used to carry a diamond.
What of it now? Lost, I think,
being too hard to destroy, but tossed to the sea,
it could be, it could be, that we will not
find it again. No funeral, pockets turned out,
no diamond, the end.
One thought on “6.12”
Ah, nostalgia. It hurts so good.