Tell a truth, or tell a lie





To S, for the last time…


Your smile, your
                       skin, your
hair & the soothing evening air,
the city pink as the sun began to
sink.

      All this
& more
now lives
below a gravestone
                            alone;
dreams that breed with soil beneath
the surface:

an afterlife of nights spent with you &
our youth
we so carelessly wasted in
a bright & beautiful display…

I don’t want to visit the grave
very often these days.

Do you?

Lost

The reasons why

hide

& you don’t try to find them.

 

Blind

instinct guides

& elides through space & time

until

you no longer know

how it is

that you find yourself

in this

dark forest.

Consequence

The consummation of
                    sorrow & regret
of impulse & blind intent,
the attempt
            to escape
makes the mistake
of believing that things we leave behind
will somehow change
or else disappear completely
when finally we
                        return:

the
    gentle susurration
of bad-faith held
to itself & nothing else,
excuses
running too thin;

the hideous birth
                of conjoined twins,
who want only to be loved,
& are as beautiful
as they are ugly,
                            just like us.

We were in the sunlight

& then when
I awoke
the morning light made me choke as
I remembered
how the gentle susurration blended
with the birdsong & the light began to
curve like the branches above us
to touch,
briefly,
skin within which poison blends with pollen
& flowers blossom before I pluck them
to place in your hair where
they will wither & die.

The past still lingers in the present,
& refuses to leave with the grace
of living things.

This is what regret means:
never to forget someone
or something;
knowing of all the lives that could have been;

to touch,
briefly,
your skin

for the last time.

Momento from the full moon

For A

Once
I loved someone,
in the same way,
& for the same reason
I love the moon:

you don’t need to see it every day,
to know that you’ll see it again;
you can’t always see it, but
you know it’ll always be there…

…& then
months became years & those years
became the unnoticed mouldering kiss;
a distance turning stale,
old & cold as the
empty bed.

So lonely not knowing how to explain
until too late,
& strange to find how changed
the feeling is when found again;

the pain so far away

just like the Moon.