Dance to the violin, twirl me and then run.
Tomorrow’s a different day. You have gone cold
and I remain burned.
There were candles of periwinkle skies and sunshine,
I remember,
I have lit them one by one.
I watched the wicker ember glow and fade black
and blew some. Candles are meant as wishes.
It was 11:11, a shooting star, or the first twinkle of
the night.
I left, cold sweat glistening under your touch
too humane for me.
Let’s keep the box wrapped in silk paper.
Put the sheets and that cologne I like
along with your candles.
Stop looking for that old silver Nokia phone.
The umbrella’s broken, and everything else that I have given
are with dust under my bed, where your monsters are hidden.
I am no longer yours
and you, never mine.
And I’m okay with that
like how you once held me in peace under
your Mother’s watchful eyes.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
Dance to the violin, twirl me and then run.
Tomorrow’s a different day. You have gone cold
and I remain burned.
There were candles of periwinkle skies and sunshine,
I remember,
I have lit them one by one.
I watched the wicker ember glow and fade black
and blew some. Candles are meant as wishes.
It was 11:11, a shooting star, or the first twinkle of
the night.
I left, cold sweat glistening under your touch
too humane for me.
Let’s keep the box wrapped in silk paper.
Put the sheets and that cologne I like
along with your candles.
Stop looking for that old silver Nokia phone.
The umbrella’s broken, and everything else that I have given
are with dust under my bed, where your monsters are hidden.
I am no longer yours
and you, never mine.
And I’m okay with that
like how you once held me in peace under
your Mother’s watchful eyes.
* For Mark and his scented candles and boxes of different shapes and sizes. Forgiven but not forgotten.
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