Litkicks Message Board Archive

Arnoa

Posted to Action Poetry




'Me haces falta'
she whispers, cada noche, before falling
into the dark of
sleep.

Memories are too lenient, too easy.
That day, that sun, that drink, that food,
colours, shapes, sounds, smell,
Taste.
It was in France
or in Milan,
depending on time and mood,
but somewhere away.

Sometimes it rained, not often.
Most of the time it didn't matter.
There weren't any windows anyway.

Only.
At least. He.
He plus she.