Crows Feet Steam From The Corner Of Your Eyes,
Each Crease A Permanent Remnant Of A Smile,
Laugh Lines Inch Across Your Cheeks,
A Memory Of Every Relivable Moment,
Folded Fingers,
Grasping Dreams That We're Accomplished,
Or Maybe Even Ones That Have Died,
Wrinkled Fingers Entwined,
Eternally With The Love Everyone Has Given,
Worn And Warm Palms,
Press Against Eachother,
Keeping All Of Your Promises Safe,
In Mortal Hands,
Don't Be Ashamed Of The Creases Which Lace,
Your Soft Skin,
Each One A Trail Of Wisdom,
Which You Trecked Over Years,
Gaining Knowledge With Every Step,
The World's Secrets,
Enclosed Under A Cloud Of Vanilla Fragrance,
Yet We All Have So Much To Learn--Still

An often wish, that time were stored somewhere,
Accessible to all, yet more to me,
A day relivable in all its flair,
To hear, to feel, to taste, to smell, to see.

Full sense-infused, the recreation'd be,
As real as present moment ever would,
A place and time to any time I'd flee,
To when and where I'd flee if flee I could.

If possible the question would be, should?
Should I relive a scene that's long since past,
Whose ground is gone upon which once I stood,
Whose sky has fled and clouds have long since cast?

Our memories whose present time has left,
Are lessons learned when of them we're bereft.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

And there I am again the week end warrior,
Stood at the far end of a swooping bar
Back against a pillar waiting for the reassuring eye contact and that question like a nice warm jacket,
‘What’ll it be then’
Just a cider and black is all that’s on my mind between bouts of craving a cigarette.

And as always you are there at the other end of the bar,
Forever unable to synchronise our whereabouts in relation to one another.
The fluttering, feverish thought ***** through my mind of maybe you’re painfully aware of me and choose the opposite end.
The stunning innocence of your smile shot across the room when my presence is finally in your eye line suggests otherwise,
And then again who could possibly be as neurotic as me.

I obliviously cast my mind back in an involuntary tearjerking tale of a chance not taken.
Sat on a dodgy bench, in our dodgy pub, having a dodgy conversation.
We sit drunkenly telling secrets until we stumble across a kiss.
That perfect moment could have made time stand still but in the nature of the real wold everything carried on rotating.

The night panned out into our separation to our different locations forgetting to grab a number or even a surname.
That moment forever to be a memory rather than a relivable situation and that casual smile being the last form of communication, constantly holding on thinking maybe this week the weekend warrior won’t be the weekend worrier.

A sudden flash back into reality by the name of ‘£3.80 please love’ the quick change of hands and it’s back to the tribe of mine in the smoking area and you’re back to the pool table.

Maybe your smile is worth the change I leave behind distracted by it, I wouldn’t know I haven totted it up.