it is not August as it was back then
but a week after
Labor Day
More than a decade later
but the feeling still
remains the same
the pang of the green-eyed monster
each time I pass this place
the gold trim of a
majestic building
I can't help seek out with each trip here
even though I suspect
she has not come back
since her first time
whereas I return again and again
sometimes in the flesh
more often in the moist precarious
of a dream from miles away
that recalls those vague
photographs
she posted that
summer
when I still felt the sting
of my own stupidity
I return like MacArthur did
only not to victory
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