Your fading perfume

Status: Finished

Your fading perfume

Status: Finished

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Your fading perfume

Poem by: MystiqueWizzard

Details

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Summary

A wooden minute burns warm,

it chokes dense smoke of waiting;

I had preferred to sit

lost in tinny hours of regret…

Summary

A wooden minute burns warm,

it chokes dense smoke of waiting;

I had preferred to sit

lost in tinny hours of regret…

Content

Submitted: March 04, 2013

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Content

Submitted: March 04, 2013

A A A

A A A


 

 

 

 

 

 

The coffee was cold.

some fugitive winter had cheated time,

used its escapade to make loneliness

more bitter than raw artichokes,

it would pour a spoonful in my cup.. . .

I sipped instead of made.

 

 

A wooden minute burns warm,

it chokes dense smoke of waiting;

I had preferred to sit

lost in tinny hours of regret…

 

 

Were you here; we´d be drinking

from the same mug, same side of the rim.

We used to.

I´d savor the secrets of your heart,

fathom your next move;

you knew all of mine…

 

 

The afternoon looks gloomy;

the mottled sky shines cerulean and ivory.

I remember you used to call these moments

–a time for philosophy-

You would laugh that rich cackle of yours;

The cloudscape numb with awe.

 

 

Your smooth fingers crisscrossed behind my neck;

Murmurs of your cranberry lips hushed on sweetened

kisses…

 

 

These days of broken-hearted dreams I miss you so much;

my systolic rhythm has its tempo in disarray…

I thought salt and pepper in my hair meant wisdom...

It did not...

 

 

I´m out of sighs. I feel choiceless. The spell of this place lost its magic;

its incantations cannot summon you back;

I wish they could. Your love was an indispensable ingredient.

Your image remained suspended beneath glassy waters;

history whispered our good-byes too long ago…

 

 

Crepuscular winds sing detachment in cinnamon scent;

elegy of poet-less muses.

Inkless, lonely quills wither in unwritten poesy;

a chiaroscuro palette; richness of primaries dried and

hardened like old toneless muscles…

 

 

This routine boredom impaled in solitude weighs a ton.

It weaves streaks of lamenting nights; crushes will and smothers

reasons to smile.

Memories are capricious runaways; occasional visitors.

Never stay over despite free lodging; not enough warmth

to keep them cozy, entertained…

 

 

Hooters prey on them: homeless rodents cringed under indigo velvet robe;

punctured with shiny freckles of infinity…

 

 

Absconded  embers of involuntary forgetfulness…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright ©MystiqueWizzard®2012

Copyright ©Alberto J. Alvarez G.® 2012

 


© Copyright 2016 MystiqueWizzard. All rights reserved.

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