There was a moment
When we were not
Creeping back into warm holes of fantasy
And breathing words to each other
There were
White, neat petals of thought
Squares of emotion
Grains of understanding
Slaps of pure happiness
And yet now I’m left
With the image of a lost face
The breaking, dissolving pattern
Of evolving memories
The impossible hope of recovery
I prayed for
Reconstruction under the heavy veil of time
On the verge of a miraculous resurrection
For an inverted drowning, and I cradling you
In your fresh grave, blackness from whiteness
A false glimmer of iridescence
Clipped butterfly wings
Perhaps our mistake was
That we valued words more than our reality
To a pernicious, sad meticulousness
And now I’m shored against these ruins
Of crooked lines, black feathers
And imperfect symphonies
Too blissful to be played
Felt or cried to
Or even made and unmade into sounds or echoes
You ran your hands through my hair and gave me flowers
Some time ago
The bliss of reiteration
The pale sustenance of a few spoonfuls of
Inked lies
Whimpers, whispers of thought
Crystallised affections
Snow-clad, marble lovers
Suspended over the brink of action
When will the time come?
Perhaps my devotion was rather
The strive for an articulation of sound
Still unheard whilst I lie here
In these sheets of loneliness
Curled, like a foetus
Like an infirm
Like a shut book
Unopened
Geometrical lines pointed to our encounter
It was written, I was certain
Carved, engraved, painted
And yet I never could read your eyes
In that last moment
They urge me to cut the lines
And heal the invisible wounds
Shamefully unspoken
But my whole being asleep
Quivers
Between a wisp of idea and another
Between a kiss and a dis-encounter
The time will come
An inward flowering
The world will stop
And inhale all action
We’ll embrace under the dome
Of a made-up palace
Perhaps these bottled distillations of
Dreams
Were enough
And I, drowsy underneath this cupola of thought
I cradle a tired, starved hope
You gave me flowers some time ago
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