Thursday, April 5, 2012


Today, I gather quietly
the fabric of the night's shadows
after our umpteen goodbyes
is just yesterday's aftermath
Three days dead
but you'll rise again
I could never slay you,
I will always insurrect you,
reclaim you
from those hidden
three-leafed clovers
between pages of poetry
I try to read
the few blue scribbles of your pen
as if hidden beneath
was an epic of intimate incoherence
The scent of your skin
had once bled
onto my bedsheet
Memories still sit in the corner
invisible and vast
hurling back echoes of fading footsteps
Memories will still
sit in that corner
collecting woody annual rings
A ring for every year
A ring for shattered rings

31-03-12 ©

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