manuel of la brea

07

you had her before me

she was also one of the flowers
in the garden where you met me,
and your eyes were on her first 
before ours met in the lush tree.

even in the most random moment,
you’d never miss the chance 
to talk about the lady’s pigment
and the way her petals dance.

i hate it when she makes you laugh.
do i always make you feel alone?
you think she’s better, she’s tough.
when can i call you my own?

‘cause i feel your second best;
you had her before me.
when you worry for her i detest—
i wish you could also see me.

was it almost a love story?
but you chose to run out of luck.
now she isn’t part of the story,
but memories of her come back.