Gradually, my receptive palette resumes the taste back onto the tongue after consuming you through eight unfiltered years, though your scent still travels to the curtains and pillow cases you have abandoned in haste. I will soon burn them in your blazing trail. The cost of our time spent in concert adds up to millions! I have eagerly awaited to confiscate your dear grandeur, like razor ninja to sharpened sensei, gleaming from your eyes staring back into mine. Much like a mirror, I invade your image to mimic your wisdom, your insight, your charm, yet there is no truth left to search for– in all your optical expressions, in all the books you keep. Back to our old apartment and it’s always the history that confounds us. These windswept walks that kick up dust to gather on your shoulder, just a brush away from fully polished.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
by Mathew Richard Carter