Always tactful
memories visit me
of the exquisiteness of loving you.
The subtlety of your touch without contact.
Of your soundless laughter
and the laughter of your eyes.
The red hue of a kiss without being given.
How fussy you talk to defeat.
I would lie
saying that things are countable
that make me feel for you
this thing I have for you called love.
They visit me
remain indefinitely
and I silently beg myself
take suitcases and walk promptly,
with the same one you are leaving now
Well, I'm not going to have time
to equip myself to keep track of you
for distant viewing only
the fullness of a love that did not correspond to me .
To experience firsthand my irremediable misfortune that discourages every next step.
Photography by Cleo Thomasson
I am pursued by a passion for writing but my mind blocks me from pursuing it back.