I did not try to forget you.
At the end of my day,
as I was crashing on my bed,
your voice was resounding in my head,
Don’t fall asleep in your work clothes.
The scent of food you made in my kitchen
the aroma of your face, after-shave
the angle your lips formed with a smile
the long fingers tracing down my face
– they were still there,
as if you’d never gone away.
Why are you still thinking about him?
He wasn’t worth it
Of course he was the whole time we spent together.
Lovers know best how long is forever.
Those moments I had with him,
he was worth every one of it.
The streets, the highways, the mountains, the sea
Rain, snow, winds, moon, sunrises, sunsets
We walked, we ran, we drove, we flew through them all.
Until now I cannot get used to the emptiness
of my hands.
The blinds of my window haven’t changed,
you said you liked them, for they blocked
glances from those highly unwelcome.
Thus when we made love, they were never up.
They have remained there after you left.
and so did the sun.
And so did my attempt
to forget everything about you.
It does not concern me whether you are here.
To me you are a matter of fact.
To me you are intact.
To me you love me still.
And no matter how much he claimed he loved her with every piece of his existence,
he was always busy between 6 and 8 p.m. every Tuesday
8:30 p.m. every Tuesday, when he got home, he would
go straight to the hot bath she had prepared for him. She would like him
to do that before seeing her and kissing her, so he
would smell like sweet lavender, and she
would smell like whatever served at dinner
And Mama said children of strength never cried in front of others, for
tears proved a lack of control. I asked, did you not cry
when you saw me for the first time? She said,
no, I restrained from screaming, and I was
With a smile,
Ever since, happiness to me
is the emptying of a stuffed stomach.
in the swollen summer days, the pressure
of what is coming to an end, the silent chaos
of the surroundings, and
the strange comfort of the new wind
completely took over everything else.
hence the slow details of day-to-day occurrences.
for there seemed to be no transition between day and night,
and light was slowly dipping into darkness,
and darkness was gently unfolding on light.
the intertwined arrays of sunshine on the clouds,
the fading sunset,
the smoke fondling the moon
all happened. all vanished.
when the eyes closed and opened
they anticipated the same thing,
and so they were served.
the aftertaste of a night’s vivid creations was sweet
like memories that were created to haunt for a lifetime.
what was remembered and
what was forgotten
all blended together.
thus past wounds were healed,
laughs were concealed behind lips,
and time was dissolved into air
to sink them all, to rise them all,
to sew fantasies seamlessly into reality.
and maybe the dream would last,
from the juxtaposition of breath to breath,