the books you borrowed
from me, on your shelf.
is that all that will remain
of us, of how we knew
each other, like this
like how my fingers give
how helpless they are
in your hands
and how hungry your mouth
on mine? and other things -
how evenings fall, oblivious to us
other things like my summer sorrow,
like your grief which you refuse to
consume.
Is that all what will remain?
or will we carry each other in
our bodies, under our skins,
keep each other safe from other
lovers, cities, sisters, husbands
from a future that promises
nothing but the end.
will you put me away inside your chest
or do you believe that love, like grief, isn't meant
to be locked away in a cupboard.
will you wear me like a watch
or keep in words, in the notebook that
I gave you on a sunny midsummer
afternoon. a mark of being, a memory
to keep. to remember. to forget.
sometimes, I want
to be your watch.
my want consumes me.
I want to be that essential
and that unnecessary.
YOU ARE READING
Doux
Poetrythe walls with blued body scents soft on the skin, the curtains drawn and a lover asleep close by. ...
