Doux

One last poem about you (?)

I had a dream about you the
other day, we were in a room
with a window with trees
outside. You were there, and then,
you weren't. A colour from the
dream escaped and spilled
on the day in the streets
on trains and on buses and
everywhere it could be, and
a whiff of it remains on my
fingers, still, even today.

I wish I had told you about
the dream, back when it was
October and you were still
in love with me. I fold it up like
a regret and keep it, next to the
time you called me and I wasn't
home. Even my regrets are silent
and sound like you. I wish they
would rage. I wish they would
howl and weep like regrets are
supposed to.

Winter creeps in like a shadow,
I can't believe its November
already. The cold cracks, even the air
has stopped breathing in this part
of the town. Tonight, I want to
break. I want to do something
reckless. I want to tear my limbs
out one by one, gently,
like a flower.