Would you now walk through those half deserted streets, lounging away the restless nights in one night cheap hotels? Would you be the age old whiskey to my now so parched throat? Do you remember under the light muslin the love we made?
Your pale hands I’ve loved beside those rosewood hued lips. Frozen in your warm embraces, did you leave me alive just so I could be lonely? And here I’ve prayed for you midst the minarets and sunsets, when the foggy days rubbed their muzzle on my window pane, and the rainy nights dampened the backyard of my heart.
SPECTRE GREY FROST everywhere.
I’d part the thick curtains of my room and muse over how like winter hath my absence been from thee. What old December’s bareness deep down I’ve felt. But I never mentioned longing or fear. I crouched like a good refugee and forgot why Autumn is harder than Spring.
Moonlit autumnal nights, rummaging through old pictures. Someone shot the air gun in the sky, a bluebird fell dead in the backyard, and so did you in the backyard of my heart.
Better my art you batterer of my heart! Live in these words while I fill these pages, live while my fingers ragingly ache. Live and die, die and live altogether.
Pic credits : Pinterest https://wallpaper.arabaresmi.com/2019/12/10/34598/
•Jotting•Catharsis• 