There is a warmth in memory
Of which I will not spare thee
Be it then or what follows
The former and its fathers
I think I wouldn’t let her go
How oft we find that witch to hold…
Category: General
Evening Tea
I have tasted your sent
In a warm glass
Of lemon tea.
Your sweetness held me
In a passing warmth,
Likened to the morning sun.
And so… I watched,
Sculpted by the wind,
My village withering
In the words of our past.
Young Language
Our love is punctuated
When language becomes a word
For our bickering spirits.
We are two birds
Beating our wings
Against the others’ wind.
When you would say my name
With me, I had known
Your heart, my pen… a poem.
When you would say my name,
I had it all…a home.
❤
Waiting
What of your wine have I taken,
If never I your stem have shaken?
I’d wait till you’d for reasons sway,
Be it even … angrily,
And drops traced your petaled lip,
Leaving little to let one sip.
She would fly
Holds her petals firm,
And for moments they flutter,
Not flight, no, they fall.
Sky
Amongst the heavens,
Space between my emotions,
Passes just slower.
20
What can we say of our last words?
I think they live in memory
To bind the ruins of the self
Till ruin lives it’s infancy.
19
Death lets a quivering breath
As he approaches my Love,
Shamefully taking her by the hand.
For even he is servant to time,
And time… has fallen into my Love
18th
You are my inevitable inspiration.
At first, you are my language.
Then, you are my tongue.
At last, you are the moment I can’t swallow.
And sometime after that, you are gone.
ahorsealone 
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