Sunday morning,
the air froze, the dahlias
once bloomed angry,
now they shiver and sigh.
Autumn breeze, faint but still,
the padded ghost-steps
of your laugh, running wild,
like vintage photographs;
scattered Polaroids of
my memory - a smile here,
a grimace there.
How the heat of
emotions buries itself
in the clothes of yesterday,
How difficult it is to
fetch from the seams.
The needles only *****
at a faint feeling.
I wonder; do you forget me
as winter forgets the living?
Because once an old man
told me I had sad eyes
Sunsets melt to chalky lines,
like cigarette stubs, they died
when you met her.
These days only my fingers
remember summer,
I touch the hearts of others
to warm them too.
My voice wind chimes,
the eulogy of the storm,
when I breath your
name I shudder...
And listen-
because I am in
the echoes
of her, of us.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
Sunday morning,
the air froze, the dahlias
once bloomed angry,
now they shiver and sigh.
Autumn breeze, faint but still,
the padded ghost-steps
of your laugh, running wild,
like vintage photographs;
scattered Polaroids of
my memory - a smile here,
a grimace there.
How the heat of
emotions buries itself
in the clothes of yesterday,
How difficult it is to
fetch from the seams.
The needles only *****
at a faint feeling.
I wonder; do you forget me
as winter forgets the living?
Because once an old man
told me I had sad eyes
Sunsets melt to chalky lines,
like cigarette stubs, they died
when you met her.
These days only my fingers
remember summer,
I touch the hearts of others
to warm them too.
My voice wind chimes,
the eulogy of the storm,
when I breath your
name I shudder...
And listen-
because I am in
the echoes
of her, of us.
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