Yet Some More Last Words

Yet Some More Last Words

So many times
we hinted towards saying “I love you”
in fact (in the ignorance
of our youth)
we  did,
mutter it, yell it,
and believed it to a point.
(In wisdom I’ve yet to share
those words with another woman.)

I do question to this date
if I might have felt its
cold hands reaching round me.

or rather I might have felt
it’s securing warmth
pull way.
(It’s that much for I am grateful.)

I do continue to deny that
I ever was submerged in its
full presence. (And
clearly you weren’t
either)

We shared our feelings in artifacts
notes, pictures, paintings doodles,
(but not quite poems
they weren’t needed until
your absence)
and we shared in
innocent hugs, kisses, and
hands held
on buses
and in basements
and long walks on
school grounds.

how long ago
it was
and I think
of how much we have
changed.
The ticking of tocks
the three clocks
still ticking, but you never heard
them. (and never will)

Our words, vibrations
long since halted
by other words.
The warmth eaten
by other arms
and dissipating into
the universe of lost heat.
(Thank god)

To think it was me
who never said anything
(ever)
In silence
I was a wrong until
its death. I screamed
killing it even more.
Then again more silence
I’m portrayed as the loud one, but
(secretly first impressions are right)
I’m the quiet one
avoiding the eyes
that I so wished to be
gazing at. I blocked
out words that were so
lyrical I wished to be subject to.
That laughter… and I just
hid from it all in false silence,
my music.

(Believe me, not much has changed.)

I begged for peace
but never received  a settled heart
(I assure you the waters are not
being stirred by you)
I only can say although
there are still fragments
from your presence
they are long since dead
and the feeling has been long
since decayed.
It’s in journals and old boxes that replicas
have been stored and emotions
have been pressed for ages
saying,

“remember me
because it was I
who opened your eyes.”

So I sit here
reading the past
enjoying the present
saying thank you
with an open hand
for nothing more than a
shake and nothing more….

(but I’m still here
with ears and bound to the
promise to the world
that I  would never stop listening.
I sometimes say that this is my curse,
but really such promises
are blessings

even when it comes to poems
like this.)

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