The smell of old spice
and expensive merlot
follows you
everywhere you’ve been
every place you go.
Can’t connect to the time or place
when you became a mystery to me.
You were always busy
a plane and a train away.
I knit together things to ask you
begging you to be familiar again.
The paper full of questions
crumpled in my hand
on your return.
Now is never a good time...
When alone,
I crawled through your life.
All stuffed in boxes,
Polaroid’s and negatives.
My eyes like hummingbirds
anxious and darting.
Found photos of you
of your past, unknown to me.
Someone I did not recognise living
inside those snapshots.
Long sandy blonde hair, wild eyes
riding motorcycles
boiling with life.
So serious now
a difficult man, who has witnessed hard things.
Who sips rare scotch, with two ice cubes
and talks of politics
and good hosts.
Mystery man,
Who shares my my hazel green eyes
And the color of my hair
Yours now short and grey.
With tears of dew in my eyelashes
I wait for you at our home,
Alone.
To speak of your travels
and trivial matters.
My unanswered questions
painfully shovelled from my mind.