The taste of your last kiss is like rust in my mouth
as I survey all the time that has passed since
then. Your heavy eyebrows weigh on my heart now as
I spend all my time thinking about you in metaphors.
I lost equilibrium after you left and I coveted the musk
of your last touch. Each day after that is like a chain
around my neck.
Nothing has mellowed.
Some hours bring back the luxury of your skin as
I count all the times we swam in each other. Some moments
stand out like jagged peaks of pain and yet
everything smells of rust.
3 comments:
you make me taste that kiss in my mouth as if i had been the one receiving it - so powerful.
you know, i have a series on the Bridge, the Last Meeting - i'm so amazed that you share the same obsession, with the same intensity. sometimes i can close my eyes in a poem of yours and think that i am in my own dark-unfolding world.
I will reply soon.
Roxana, hi
Whilst the refrain about things "last" can be seemingly obsessive to the outsider, yet, the emotive content of such moments is like a tragic and never ending unfolding of the preciousness of a time that is forever lost. To the ache of past moments or the ecstatic memory of past events is now added a dimension of some amount of bitterness, and this retrograde attribution to memories by our current emotions is as much fact as fiction and I will refrain from even trying to differentiate between the two.
I know that you are sensitive and hence you feel. There is abundant evidence of your sensitivity at your blog. And you are also generous with your praise and I am not just trying to back scratch!
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