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When days are painted with melancholy,
i go back to those late stargazing nights
when our humble bed burst with
toothpaste and ***-scented whispers,
our eyes, focused above...as if we could
see the big and small dipper through our
bedroom ceiling........as if we could see
stars falling...and the ceiling was our sky
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some nights, we talked about
growing old...afternoon strolls,
and "six feet under" issues, but
never...never the death of love
(who knew that it could die?)
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we were two souls fired by goals,
we were two torches defying winds,
even when fate's gusty winds,
blew against our sails...even when
rain doused the fire in our sky
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we were both drunk.....you from
alcohol...i, from hushed brokenness.
many summers and monsoon seasons
sobered us up...until one day came
subtle fires of new dawns
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we stared long at each other
with a shared reluctance,
thinking of
times to come,
with and without each other
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the sunset sky is now layered with
bronze and orange fires, just like
my own embers, still fighting, still red
with flames that dance with a breeze.
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sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 2, 2020