memories of those days, when
all that matters was pleasing you, when
all desires were hinged on you, then
a jar of jam somewhat expired, smell
no more than the deceit that masked your smiles.
memories of those nights, that
our voices go back and forth, hearts
in sync with every spoken word, and
lips in sync with every unuttered thoughts, sad
how not one affection passed via airwaves,
was in sync with promises made.
memories of those promises made,
how I took pride of place
to hold in clenched fists a dead assurance,
a cosmic clump of smells,
twin months of faux tales,
of tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never understood what I was holding on to,
was the grey end of a red hue.
I'm balancing my remains on a wire
hoping ends will meet to begin
yet another circle of intimate fire.
I'm down in the shelters of unlit nook
scared to be killed by yet another dart,
shot from a your kind,
aimed at my kind.
so I cuddle through the cold that bite at my skin
and lit cheap firelogs, not because darkness scare me,
rather to watch my shadow dance on the wall
while I drift into the arms of our oblivion.
It might take much for me to recuperate
and you a second swift to sink another bait...
pray I you stagger into the wrong lake,
where the wind shall fan you upskirt,
so all fishes, unaware, lying in wait,
shall safely swim away deep underwater
wherein drowned the memories of promises of happy-ever-after.
This is not a poem.
#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician #SSA
all that matters was pleasing you, when
all desires were hinged on you, then
a jar of jam somewhat expired, smell
no more than the deceit that masked your smiles.
memories of those nights, that
our voices go back and forth, hearts
in sync with every spoken word, and
lips in sync with every unuttered thoughts, sad
how not one affection passed via airwaves,
was in sync with promises made.
memories of those promises made,
how I took pride of place
to hold in clenched fists a dead assurance,
a cosmic clump of smells,
twin months of faux tales,
of tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never understood what I was holding on to,
was the grey end of a red hue.
I'm balancing my remains on a wire
hoping ends will meet to begin
yet another circle of intimate fire.
I'm down in the shelters of unlit nook
scared to be killed by yet another dart,
shot from a your kind,
aimed at my kind.
so I cuddle through the cold that bite at my skin
and lit cheap firelogs, not because darkness scare me,
rather to watch my shadow dance on the wall
while I drift into the arms of our oblivion.
It might take much for me to recuperate
and you a second swift to sink another bait...
pray I you stagger into the wrong lake,
where the wind shall fan you upskirt,
so all fishes, unaware, lying in wait,
shall safely swim away deep underwater
wherein drowned the memories of promises of happy-ever-after.
This is not a poem.
#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician #SSA
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