I wrote this to someone months ago.Or well, something like this. But perception changes over time. Like a rivetting cloud floating on a horizon, its not supposed to be floating around. seasons have changed. Summer to autumn to the cold of winter. So have my words, But some things refuse to change. He said he never got this. But surprisingly someone not supposed to did. Bliss, they call it. Bumped into him some weeks ago and then.........nothing. The muse had been replaced. How quaint! Takes a moment to snap away from past and not even a blink before someone new walks along.. No long distances for me, ever again...
A colour.Or is it?
I don’t think so.
But I am not sure.
Does it matter what I think?
Do you still think of me sometimes?
And of times we spent away and together?
If not quite all, do some memories haunt you?
Like when we stood on the rainy sidewalk and sang.
That night when we laughed so much that our stomachs hurt
When you taught me how to hold a cigarette like a woman.
And I buried my head in your lap and cried tears of blood.
You stroked me in silence, while my tears wet our clasped souls.
In suspended moments I slept on your side of the bed.
Your nicotine stained fingers stormed across paper, creating disjointed poetry.
Merciless, empty words about a distant, unreal life form.
With the next morning came a grey winter.
Which has carved itself inside my marrow.
Most mornings I smell of you.
Unborn flowers refuse to blush.
I didn’t choose this.
Not this colour.