I am broken-hearted this morning.
Even the air is melancholy and
mourning with me. Mourning love,
mourning life, and death, and
everything in between.
I flinch when I catch my reflection
in the mirror. Even as close as last
week, I had imagined my lover's
silhouette standing behind me, blurry
but I could still make out the shadow
under his lips. And yet, today, I can't
love his shadow as much. It's November
now. The sky is bleak. It's too quiet
in this room.
The morning is grey and loveless.
I can hear the ticking of the clock
from the living room. I feel
very cold suddenly. I could die
right here, right now, when the room is
quiet and the air is melancholy and
mourning for me
already.
YOU ARE READING
Doux
Poetrythe walls with blued body scents soft on the skin, the curtains drawn and a lover asleep close by. ...
