hastily scribbled words on a sheet,
that crumples up in your hands despite your own volition;
choked up i miss yous that
never
make it past the thin lining of your heart;
withheld tears that choke you up
and leave you on your knees;
sometimes,
i love yous that never make it past your tongue;
eyes that meet with a gaze you can’t recognise
(not anymore)
a quick glance,
a look
away
that lasts a –
second and then –
over.
what you mean to me –
endless countless listless
the scene of our life together cuts out;
to be replaced,
erased,
by something else – an attempt to replace a rarity,
a reality.
(but that’s not the best analogy, is it?
you can’t even think of apt analogies anymore)
this is what you mean to me –
badly written poetry
when you once used to be my muse
Image courtesy of Jeremy Bishop