I think

You maybe

Dulled my shine.

That is to say

You were great,

Sure,

But also the worst.

And there was

A time I made

Quirky poems

And since we’ve parted

My quirk

Has lost its splat.

Because I am

Writing sad poems

And dreaming of

Kicking over your moped

Outside

My window.

My scheme isn’t

Even the same

But I’ll keep talking in an endless sentence

To break that mold

And splat

Enough on a honk

After tooting that chickacowowow

Like a little

Quirk

Like a return to me.