A few notes from a melody so long ago a favorite
A catch-phase that drifts through the air that once caused laughter
A partial memory half thought that drifts like snowflakes in a storm
I see the pale blue of your eyes reflected in a puddle
I hear that lilt of your voice from an overheard conversation
I awake and a dream lingers that we shared
Half asleep I feel your warm breath on my pillow
And see the outline of your hair
But I know that there is no dent in the mattress
I know that the space on the sheets is still cold
There is no voice that can call me
I only hear echoes of my own
No soft skin to reach out to
There is no “honey” when I’m home
Yeah, the eyes that I see now are not the eyes of reproach,
Disappointment
That look of displeasure
I don’t hear the disdain in your remembered voice
I don’t feel for the hand that pulled away
This wound is still open and bleeds
No matter how often its stitched
I try and keep it covered and hid
I’m not sure that it will ever heal
No matter how long I keep licking it
My eyes well up when I touch it
When I’m alone after dark
I miss you so deeply
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3 comments:
Possibly the saddest poem I've ever read. But your blood isn't bitter or salty; enriched by understanding, it is my hope that one day soon it will serve to nourish your passion rather than your loss.
There is no “honey” when I’m home...I like this line as a beacon phrase that drives the point home, and it is right in the middle emphasizing a turning point in the poem.
Nicely done, very emotional. When someone's no longer there we purge bad memories and only cling to the good.
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