do you remember when you left my bed
for the last time that dark december night?
you were angry and i was cold
i couldn't give you exactly what you wanted--
your desire, a warm invitation into a life i didn't know i'd want
but now as i see you through tinted windows at red light intersections
and i catch our friends saying your name in hushed tones
i find myself face to face with you in my midnight thoughts
wondering what i'm missing from our past life together
slow kisses, warm embraces, soft smiles
the way you held my hand as you drove your car
the way you grabbed my neck and pulled me closer
the way you wiped away these incessant tears
all the things that kept me close to you
but i can't forget the things that pushed me away
echoing arguments, unrealistic expectations, alcohol-dependent nights
the way your irreverent temper slashed my autonomy
the way you despised sobriety but only around me
the way that I was never enough
do you miss me like i miss you,
or do you hate me like i hate you?

I tell her that tomorrow
Slides slowly to meet my
Familiar night.

That the changes are few
And subtle. I am OK, I say,
Face still cold from last night's

Pavement.
Truth is I'm terrified.
Heartbroken and soaked in

Myself, clinging to the past with
One hand, fighting its demons
With the other. Terrified.

Embracing my inner
Earthling. Loathing it.
Terrified. Loving it.

I used to think I was only human.
Now I
Know.

Is it nostalgia,
Habit or that little culprit

The awakening
Once more
The heart dropped
As if you were never gone

We ignore the signs
That tear us apart
Though history taught us
We are not enough

Love with you,
In perpetuity, and never sure
I can without
But I would rather not.

the night’s unfamiliar
shiver of last leaves
from trees silent
as frost.
the world is gold
and bronze.
the shadows melt,
flame, bend, unwind
discover still currents
of dark earth
where the sleepy
stream murmurs
that the moon
is a ghost of
water,
that her midnight
streams are
the strangest of
strangest
songs.

My summer smells like deadlines,
for lifelines **** themselves
sometime near spring,
with the serrated rust
of misconstrued martyrdom,
they wither fall
into a ghost who lingers
flaking slow
among the fallen ribbons,
former clothes
torn and thrown away
for the sheets of winter

In the yellow,
cold light
of the wine-dark
night _
between the new mall
and the Roman Site _
he staggered
alone,
drunken
with "Magon"*
and memories.

Vast,
so vast is the night _
vast
as the memory
of an English
prairie,
and an emmer-haired
maiden
he had walked
to the ferry
on a summery day.

Vast,
so vast
is a night
masquerading
as a want of sight.


© LazharBouazzi

whispers of sea
where the cold storm
gathers in the grey
sky, and the waves
pound the shore
running back
pushing down
arching like
fiery cats,
the ache of the storm
a tearful cloud
the song of
a poem.