By Lawrence Miles

Maybe it was the glasses you wore
Maybe it was your hair pulled back
Maybe it was your photograph folded in my pocket

But suddenly
You looked more beautiful
And more far away from me
Than you have ever been before

Allow me my stammering
And keep away from me

Didn’t they say it was for the best?

Stuck at the Stillwell Avenue station
No way to ever get home

Your beauty is my exile.

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Lawrence Miles is a poet living in White Plains, NY. He wanted to barrel race in Windrixville as a kid.