the hands on the clock stall at the center of it all, unmoving
everything , stutters, slides, stammers around them
silences bubble up in the swamps of entropy
in these celestially celebrated serenades.
I grind my heart into a paste
for sealed mason jars
to be opened when
the nights
flare up
yearnings
of yesteryears,
to be comforted
with the tastes that eluded
my tongue, in all the years I left behind,
in the bags I left unopened under the bed,
Straight from the planes I pulled them from.
These are back aches from staying still in the buses
That carry me from one moment to another, place to place

I’m gonna lie on your shoulder.
I’m so calm on it.
I don’t feel pain of my body.
I’m so peaceful indeed.

I’m gonna nuzzle into
The bush of your hair in whole.
I’ll smell the almond flavor
And that’s all I need at all.

I’m gonna hug me by your hands.
And lose in embrace! Don’t speak!
Don’t remove your hands! I please you!
They are my love coverlid.

Remember that night?
The soft glow of the tv reflecting blue on the walls
Our tongues dancing to the music
That played in the background
I had you pinned the wrong way round on the bed
Your head between my arms
Every part of us touching
I could feel the heat on your skin
The melody of your heartbeat
You tasted like the cherry sucker I gave you
An hour before
Oh, how I used to drown in your melancholy

Yet now all I feel is water
Little drops from the shower
While I stare at what never was
The music of your breathing still plays in my ears
When the night is quiet enough
Sometimes I swear I still feel your skin
But the moment passes and I’m left with this cold sort of feeling
An empty swell in my chest
A tingle behind my eyes
You are nothing but dull memories now
Nothing but a thought of remembrance

Withering by the prolonged waiting for someone is strangulation of euphoric flavor.

© Spriha Kant