deepundergroundpoetry.com
I Forgot You
When I touched my lips to your glass I forgot you,
I stole a kiss from your picture, the paper lips of yours
not quite the same, but better than the cold, dry desert air I see and breath and feel when I open my eyes.
There is a candle in this house, and there is nothing else. When the candle is lit and burns and burns it swallows the house slowly, the only end to this is to open the door.
I hate it when you're not here, and before I remember what you do with your hands and the expression that you wear when you walk out of our home.
Stop me, in this memory, when you hold my hand and it turns into flowers and I fall into the ground in a crumbling heap.
I forgot you, I'm sorry.
I stole a kiss from your picture, the paper lips of yours
not quite the same, but better than the cold, dry desert air I see and breath and feel when I open my eyes.
There is a candle in this house, and there is nothing else. When the candle is lit and burns and burns it swallows the house slowly, the only end to this is to open the door.
I hate it when you're not here, and before I remember what you do with your hands and the expression that you wear when you walk out of our home.
Stop me, in this memory, when you hold my hand and it turns into flowers and I fall into the ground in a crumbling heap.
I forgot you, I'm sorry.
Published 21st Jan 2014
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