May 2, 2011
By h.berkman GOLD, Los Angeles, California
h.berkman GOLD, Los Angeles, California
11 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Memories revolve around me,
consuming my swimming, drifting thoughts,
circling me with their welcoming arms,
taking me in and never letting me back out,
with deep exhales of forgotten pasts.
Memories of tenderness and flight,
the bird spreads its wings and takes flight,
only to fall back down again with a gentle thud.
The memories are glimmering stars and velvet rings of smoke,
they are gazes and longings,
they are the grins that lifted our cheeks
from their sullen positions.
They are your luster and gleaming skin,
your façade of impermeable adoration,
your chuckle breaking the painstaking silence.
They are the fleeting look in your eyes,
they are the petals of small effervescent flowers,
they are the fluttering of a child’s eyelashes,
beating softly against their tranquil face,
they are the sharp snap of a match being lit,
illuminating the dark shadows of abandoned corners.
They are fingers through my hair,
they are the sardonic repartees that ended in mirth,
they are the scraping of knives against plates,
cleaning its surface of glistening purity.
They are the crackling of ice as it is hit with warm water,
they are the rustling of papers and the gliding of my pen,
they are the bitterness of coffee and the sweetness of sugar,
they are our high spirits, clenched in desire.
They are the smell of your pillows, of you,
they are the taste of your lips, reminiscent still,
they are the tingling of fingertips across gliding surfaces.
They were my solace, my comfort, my treasures.
Now goose bumps appear where warmth used to be.

The author's comments:
This is probably the most personal thing I have ever written.

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