Thoughts, in poem form.

The lights glow

Amber.

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.

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.