The lights glowAmber.
And a column of traffic muscles across
His last, nonchalant wave -
An engulfing tidal panic,
Crashing home, and
In its wake, a crest of
White horses; tripping, trailing froth, and
Straining on the aching chains
Of Loss.
It hits like a shattered sequin.
As abstract melancholy leaks in;
Concentric ripples
or loops of time, sliding onwards and outwards with the edges of the universe.
They say that water turns to concrete when you
drop -
A fall from love is endless, Draining.
With no rock-hard stop.
Just silence, on repeat, and
Wish you were here,
Strumming gently, at the heart-strings
- A butterfly kiss -
With percussion of tears.
Metaphors flow...
Past raindrops on a window,
Tracing erratic paths
across the glass,
they hitch-hike lifts on scattered orbs - trembling
To touch, then tenderly absorb
Their waiting Rome-os.
they hitch-hike lifts on scattered orbs - trembling
To touch, then tenderly absorb
Their waiting Rome-os.
He trickles out of sight, but leaves a watermark
In mind, a print.
That fuck off and let me miss you
Tousled grin,
Phone-in-hand, arm raised,
To trigger tsunamis
With a single wave.
The traffic lights blush, red-cheeked, and
Look away, as we spring apart; apart,
now, until the raindrops meet,
To surge as One,
And the next
breathless
joyride
of our
Love
shall
start.
