Yes, I still feel her breath against
My ear, as asleep as my
Arm that I
Will not need to move until she
Turns in a dream,
And I sink into my own.
Never again will that passing
Train throw
Blue light shadows on the
Ceiling above
My head where her smoke
Detector
Blinks its little, red light of
Reassurance.
Whiffs of lilac as I cross the
Street to her place
Where she is waiting.
All yesterdays, now.
The right songs still summon
Recap videos of our year-and-a-
Half in
Love behind my eyes.
Not choosing suffering,
I curl up underneath a warm
Blanket of what
Was; what can never
Truly be taken
Away.
And rest.
Sometimes something flowers
With such
Grace that its passing away
Simply cannot unfold as
Any less graceful.
Ghandi shot in the chest, meeting
The Void whispering:
Ram, Ram, God's
Name, as if saying: "I'm coming,
Look, ma': No hands!"
No attachments.
Lovers no more, friends for life,
Once sharers of
Intimacy and
Laughter, tears and everyday
Moments; little
Grains of gold.
Our own buried treasure
Where ex marks the spot, and the
Map is riding on
Kisses blowing with the
Scent of lilac and the sound of
Magpies chattering against
Trains as if saying: "Just try, I'll
Take ya!"
Our attitude
In the nutshell they
Peck at with hungry
Beaks, leaving little traces like
Runes in powder snow.
To be nothing but grateful, even
For the days that could have been
Better. To miss her with a
Warm heart, content.
Wish her more happiness and
Security than I did even on
The days of
Our most intense affections.
Parting is part of Life, and
I'll remain at peace with
The parts both
Before and
After, until
My arm is
Forever asleep with the
Rest of me, resting.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
Yes, I still feel her breath against
My ear, as asleep as my
Arm that I
Will not need to move until she
Turns in a dream,
And I sink into my own.
Never again will that passing
Train throw
Blue light shadows on the
Ceiling above
My head where her smoke
Detector
Blinks its little, red light of
Reassurance.
Whiffs of lilac as I cross the
Street to her place
Where she is waiting.
All yesterdays, now.
The right songs still summon
Recap videos of our year-and-a-
Half in
Love behind my eyes.
Not choosing suffering,
I curl up underneath a warm
Blanket of what
Was; what can never
Truly be taken
Away.
And rest.
Sometimes something flowers
With such
Grace that its passing away
Simply cannot unfold as
Any less graceful.
Ghandi shot in the chest, meeting
The Void whispering:
Ram, Ram, God's
Name, as if saying: "I'm coming,
Look, ma': No hands!"
No attachments.
Lovers no more, friends for life,
Once sharers of
Intimacy and
Laughter, tears and everyday
Moments; little
Grains of gold.
Our own buried treasure
Where ex marks the spot, and the
Map is riding on
Kisses blowing with the
Scent of lilac and the sound of
Magpies chattering against
Trains as if saying: "Just try, I'll
Take ya!"
Our attitude
In the nutshell they
Peck at with hungry
Beaks, leaving little traces like
Runes in powder snow.
To be nothing but grateful, even
For the days that could have been
Better. To miss her with a
Warm heart, content.
Wish her more happiness and
Security than I did even on
The days of
Our most intense affections.
Parting is part of Life, and
I'll remain at peace with
The parts both
Before and
After, until
My arm is
Forever asleep with the
Rest of me, resting.
