Friday, August 14, 2009
Forty Years On
A part of me so deep and lost still loves you, he said.
And sometimes the door cracks open and I throw my head to the sky and howl
In pain, in fear, in loss, in memory, in longing.
Do you understand?
Do you understand this at all?
That this part of me exists only for you?
It died on the day we did. But it was never buried.
It lies there without a marker, without a headstone.
And now I can see all that we missed.
Because we couldn’t look into each other’s eyes
And bare each other’s souls, the we, the us, by us, for us, that us, that we
That flared so magnificently then. Like fireworks knocking out the stars.
I’ve never loved like that love with the fingers of me on the fingers of you
So tight, I could have snapped them off, one by one, do you remember?
But instead I licked and kissed them one by one, all ten, over and over.
And moved to your toes, one by one, over and over.
And told you stories of me meeting you and you meeting me.
Do you remember, you must remember.
You wanted my voice in your head all night long.
To lay your devils down and stop the sound they made
Keening words that told you not to tell me your secrets
To never trust me, to betray me,
And to get up and leave me.