It's the day after
I've spent the memories on other things
I sat at a candled table
eased into wicker chairs
with plush cushions
and cigarette smoke coiling into the humid air.
I-among others- wet our tongues on sweet wine
and sampled crumbled cake from antique bakeries
sipped steaming tea from tin kettles
and laughed as coins jingled in our pockets
and happiness jostled against our souls.
I spent the day after
not thinking about that hurt
but rather forgetting for a while
that just the day before
you had fallen far
in my estimations.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
It's the day after
I've spent the memories on other things
I sat at a candled table
eased into wicker chairs
with plush cushions
and cigarette smoke coiling into the humid air.
I-among others- wet our tongues on sweet wine
and sampled crumbled cake from antique bakeries
sipped steaming tea from tin kettles
and laughed as coins jingled in our pockets
and happiness jostled against our souls.
I spent the day after
not thinking about that hurt
but rather forgetting for a while
that just the day before
you had fallen far
in my estimations.
Request permission to use this poem