Litkicks Message Board Archive

expiated

Posted to Action Poetry




as my lips
touched her eyelashes
memories flickered
in my head
turning like an old
projector
waiting for the
lightbulb to go dead
her skin was lit
with images
dreams from present and past
distorted by the
beads of sweat
accumulating rather fast
the empty space
we occupied
was cold
but thawing out
by the early
morning light
no furniture,
just the mattress
we’d mold
and the curtains
that fluttered all night
on the sheets
were scenes from our youth
and things we always said
and in my eyes
were her eyes reflecting
all the things that are now dead