plot-less poetry

a scribble

us,
uninterrupted silences
mingling written words
strewn books and closed windows
voyeuristic pleasure
your eyes, my carnivore instincts, our lips
coffee, our idea of shangri-la,
crumpled bodies and muffled laughter

that day in park street,
lingering hug and cheeks pressed into each other
looking at you one last time, mental images
last airport phone calls,
you are fragile
so am i

tears,
in your eyes
and on my soul

timelessness,
that voice beckoning me
my memories of you,
some leftover photographs
and warmth

counting days backwards,
the slow burn of cigarettes and life
oh! the mundane and the plotlessness
of it all

did i say,
you are missed.