I remember her touch.

As well as her kind gaze and warm smile.
They way she gleamed and held her head high.
She left her hand in mine.
Confident that the world wouldn’t mind.
Especially, when we went out to dine.

Fortunately, that time is now behind.

I remember my nickname.
She’d laugh at my sneer, knowing I’d go insane.
She’d pick on me when no one looked,
Only to make that face I’d hate to imitate.
Our kiss? She’d initiate.
Long, tender, nuzzle free meal I’d gleefully partake.

Alas, that time is in my wake.

I remember our goodbyes.
Her sad scream and dark eyes.
Long texts and fake fights.
The stakes were high.
I still hear echoes of her curses in the middle of the night.

The black hole in my soul, sucking, had never seemed so bright.

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4 comments

  1. quite surprising !!!! poetry is a window that looks unto your mind and your soul , something that you cannot actually control , poetry is is little bit like speaking in tongues , not everybody can understand , but those who do are uplifted , poets are gifted , a poem is a little bit like love songs , a mirror that shows our rights and our wrongs , poetry is like a ghost in the crowd that knows all your secrets and tell them loud , it is hard to know what all this is about , but poetry is a voice that can moan , groan or shout !!!!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. “…poetry is is little bit like speaking in tongues , not everybody can understand , but those who do are uplifted…” You’ve captured the essence of poetry very well in that sentence. I am pleased you enjoyed it this much. Thank you for your comments Chistina. 😉

      Like

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