I remember telling her:
`You've lost me.'
I remember the soft shape of her lips
when they opened halfway in
curiosity and wonder of knowing me,
the way they reached for me and pulled me inwards.
I remember telling him:
'You've left me'
as he drifted into a woman's arms never to return
leaving me bereft,
knowing I would never have a friend like that again
tiny shards of me littered on the pavement outside my apartment.
I remember the pain of ink being pressed into skin
and the whys of such pain
made me immune to the buzzing needle
like a contented honeybee.
I remember being suffused by memories
at a bus stop bench,
where pine cones littered the landscape around me
like discarded toys
and
how I learned to warm myself to sadness.
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