If I suddenly die without a trace...
Would you think of the
hundred questions left unanswered;
And the hundred promises rendered false,
The hundred places we’d wished we’d go,
To the mountains, to witness the first snow ?
Would you walk those alleys
Pregnant with unfinished conversations
From tea-stained lips, in the matted, yellowed nights?
Would you think I betrayed you?
Or would you think of the light?
The orange that you saw on my hair,
on an even orange-r day?
Or would your eyes rush to the blue scarf,
on the wire,
Its lit shadow waltzing with the wind
to the drone of the autumn leaves?
Would you rise up to clasp it with both hands;
My smell. Gushes in to your body,
Through your veins, into your blood.
In a wild embrace, I enter your being.
A moment’s touch,
Before a slow, calm
Would you ruffle those dried leaves,
and save the reddest for the verse
with the whitest soul?
The verse, left untold.
Songs must be sung.
Stories must be told
Life is colour!
Life is love!
The crude looking ape you bought from the
Dingy second hand store
Sits on the table now, aware of your gaze.
His brass form, a constant reminder
Of our primal histories,
Our journeys. Our Leaps.
Upturn that clock, let the pink sand trickle down.
This is where we’ve reached.
Everything we’ve ever dreamed of,
in the pauses between these lines
in the rhythm of our breaths,
drawn together, in sleep.
in the mad gushes of the wind that has
made love to our bodies;
sweeping off our souls.
There has been nothing before this,
There will be nothing after.
What then, would my death mean?
Surely not the death of light,
Or those colours that have tinted your memory;
The winds will still caress your soul,
Your paint-stained hands will always talk of love.
What then, would it really, really mean?
Originally written on : April 16th 2015