Half-formed by Ada heller

You smell a little of lavender and
that time in Marseille when your dreams and I
walked through cobblestoned, Christmas-lit streets. And
how we charmed an old man into free wine
and stories of fairy-French-forests. And
if I could stop time, I’m glad I didn’t
use that power then. You and I are but
faded ideas, half-formed sonnets, and
sprinkles of apology. Now I can
see that that is all that is left for us
to be.