Escape
I traveled to the
other side of the world
to escape you.
I collected treasures of
sun-soaked beaches,
delicate shells,
lust evening breezes,
peace of mind.
Yet, on those nights,
when I lay in cool sheets,
I think of your quiet gesture:
brushing my hair
back from my face.
My memory's effect is immediate;
I forget to remember
why I left in the first place.
Life is like that - full of forgetting to remembering. Nice.
ReplyDeleteThe lust evening breezes... brushing back hair from the face...
ReplyDeleteI love your memories (and understand why you forget what needs to be remembered)!
That's how memory works, doesn't it? Look back, and wonder, "Why did I leave, anyway?" Nicely and delicately captured. Well done.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful poem :)
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. you are so good.
ReplyDelete