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Red, think of me
as you drive
all those miles

back to your

Think of me,

You will inhale
the soar stench
of modern realty
on the NJ Turnpike.

Please forget me

When I cross down
into the Hudson River Valley
I will remember
my old lover.

A writer of past years,
a damaged narcissist,

but you are a musician.

I haven't heard you
play, but you know
how to start
a tap in my toe
and a hum in my heart.

Red, think of me
sweetly as you drive,
all those hours
to your childhood.


IDK why no one replied. You misspelled "sour," but that line about the NJ turnpike made me chuckle.

It's a very personal poem, and I feel genuine emotion coming from the author. The shift from the main love interest to the past lover is a little awkward, but it's a nice poem.

Good use of punctuation.

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