A brief history of failing to pay attention…

After these two years I have learnt

how to follow every step across each

floor; every right angle of every wall,

to walk toward the shower/shitter

in darkness: I could make the walk

with my eyes closed.

 

Two years ago – February 

14th – such a lovely Valentine gift! –

I moved in to this house of unloved things

& became one of them.

Until gold & blue colours, like

bright sunlight meeting an ocean,

appeared at my door.

 

Soon, every week we broke the law,

as society locked-down I crossed town

so we could spend days & nights

drinking together, fucking each other

as if there would be no tomorrow

& not caring either way.

Then the weeks

became months; the winter

 

crawled through spring & became summer.

All the while I pined for another: my

wildflower amour, my amante, the one

who sent me into exile & into

this house with its smell of neglect,

self-pity & cigarette smoke…until

their moonlight eyes returned from dreams

to begin a day where we could satiate

our longing for sweet nostalgia.

 

So I unfurled & left behind

everything I found in those Ocean Eyes.

I followed the path back toward  

life before exile but

of course, it couldn’t last:

it was doomed from the start & that

is when I met the raven with the soul

of a van Gough landscape,

but by then it was too late & escape

was all I craved…

 

Through it all I let my attention drift

into filthy depths of desecration. 

 

Until raven hair, sunset lips,

sibylline eyes & such slender fingertips

 

fell from the sky to find 

release

in a blue so ugly when compared to

 

the sky in which they used to fly.

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