A cloud in november
Your shoulder to cry on
Forget the pain, you said
I hated myself
It was all silver embroidery
since then
A I in Juno, decends
Forgetten poetry, mumbled words
She whispers, singing
Corrosive eyelashes, teardrops dare
Your mumbling saved me.
I needed saving.
From myself.
From my own obnoxiousness
Desires spilt into bitter hatred.
Anyone could have done it,
a plumber. But no, not them. You.
A kind word, or two.
The desire leaked from pain.
Forgive me. I do not desire you.
I only wanted rain.
To heal the wound.
The wound that would not heal.
You touched and it did not hurt.
A little sore, much better now.
After your thought
caressed it.
A floral napkin fell to the floor.
You picked it up,
money for the bus, you said.
It was all so simple.
Number in the back of a book.
An ordinary day ahead.
Nothing more to be said, mission
Accomplished.
A yellow sphere-
an atmosphere,
of love replaced
with fear.
Fear of aloneness
n a world without shadows
without masks
without taste.
I saw your world and feared
that there was nothing ever
left unturned.
I felt for you- shocked
I turned to stone
and never spoke again
of it
or anything.
But in my heart a tone remained unturned
Thank you for leaving it there
Thank you for giving me time
to return.
Unaided,
unscorned.
Unmilitant.
Despair.
Complete
Suture,
I aid my satchel,
I carry the stone in my pocket.
I drop it in the lake.
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