Is this a journal about Rose?
At first, I didn't like her. The same way I didn't like our Librarian, or Apollo.
Everyone was so naturally drawn to her, they enjoyed her presence without reason.

I tried to write poems not about her, one time- they were terrible. She's just such a force, such an experience of a person. Writing about anything else seemed dishonest. I recently spake thusly of her, and other things:
"look at the moon
look at the moon
"look at that moon..."

look at it,
that moon, one day waning
one day back in it's
shell
one day going backwards
look and think how
I fell in love with her

are you coming or going?
waxing or waning? taking action or acting?
you are not so visible as
my first love, you prefer text and poems
to sky
your cycles are harder to track
but the way you move,
the way that you
come and go,
the way you
fascinate
me
are
all the

a
really
good
metaphor.