03-11-2014, 03:57 AM
Remembrances
It happened this way once before -
they walked in silence eating plums
not because they were in love,
but because they felt nothing.
Some days she would strip
off her stockings, hanging them like severed legs
across the door frame;
knowing then that love was a dishonest word,
but wanting to be known.
In the mornings she drank coffee like water,
cleansing her throat with heat,
vainly seeking in the empty cup
some small sip of truth.
Shuffling back and forth across the threshold
I watched, transfixed by her steaming eyes;
with tiny fingers I fed my plastic doll,
tenderly stroking her black, untidy hair.
-------------------------------------
I remember them then, though dimly.
They walked in silence eating plums
not because they were in love,
but because they felt nothing.
Some days she would strip
off her stockings, hanging them like severed legs across the door frame;
both of them knowing love was a dishonest word,
but wanting to be known.
In the mornings she drank coffee like water,
cleansing her throat with heat,
vainly seeking in the empty cup
some small sip of truth.
Shuffling back and forth across the threshold
I watched, transfixed by her steaming eyes.
I fed my plastic doll with tiny fingers,
tenderly stroking her black, untidy hair.
It happened this way once before -
they walked in silence eating plums
not because they were in love,
but because they felt nothing.
Some days she would strip
off her stockings, hanging them like severed legs
across the door frame;
knowing then that love was a dishonest word,
but wanting to be known.
In the mornings she drank coffee like water,
cleansing her throat with heat,
vainly seeking in the empty cup
some small sip of truth.
Shuffling back and forth across the threshold
I watched, transfixed by her steaming eyes;
with tiny fingers I fed my plastic doll,
tenderly stroking her black, untidy hair.
-------------------------------------
I remember them then, though dimly.
They walked in silence eating plums
not because they were in love,
but because they felt nothing.
Some days she would strip
off her stockings, hanging them like severed legs across the door frame;
both of them knowing love was a dishonest word,
but wanting to be known.
In the mornings she drank coffee like water,
cleansing her throat with heat,
vainly seeking in the empty cup
some small sip of truth.
Shuffling back and forth across the threshold
I watched, transfixed by her steaming eyes.
I fed my plastic doll with tiny fingers,
tenderly stroking her black, untidy hair.