cliché…

watching
patterns
on
the ceiling
candlelight dancers
flickering
like
memories
and
sweet words
heard
so
long ago
friends
forever
lovers
for
the moment
tantalizing
touches
passion
has a way
of
arbitrating
with
reason
youth
has little
to do with it
but
provides
a time-tested
excuse
readily accepted
in
most circles
of
society
except for
a few
hardline
religious zealots
who
rarely
approve
of
anything
but they
end up
like
the melted wax
upon
my floor
cold
solidified
paraffin postures
of
humanity
never
really enjoying
the
flames

thoughts while reading her sedoka…

her tears are her words
pages filled with memories
memories of nights by his side

memory’s journal
pages stained with her lost dreams
dreams once as real as warm flesh