Memory #262

I thought we’d buried you and I

Bloody metal, broken crystal, mangled stone

These lie in testament of this; I thought.

 

“What do you want from me?”

Shadows flicker - not from you

From my own question; me.

Have you ever asked something dishonest?

 

“Come here” - someone acquiesced

 

What a beautiful glass forest; I can see

Every image, every feeling in your mind,

And intention, “How did you-?”

Never mind - we know we’ve met before.

 

Touch my tears to your lips

Bring my ear to your chest

Forever, I’ll be; to hear it

Can almost know your heartbeat.

 

Bare, open, unguarded we stand

Here all alone in the moonlight

Oh, how I adore these hands.

“She’s a string player.” - I remember.

 

I remember you tonight, I do

In these gardens, while I’m this-

Discordant lyre in your arms

What you play is still something.

 

No armor, no rules

We just - are, and you see

We’re in - every new image,

 I-I think we’ve done this before…

 

We’re both afraid, I know

So here, an honest question:

 

Should I take off my glasses?

It’s how you know me best.

 

Reviews

[Emily B]

this is wonderful, bits and pieces of an old story, and I think I filled in the rest as I went along, really touching words . . .