Eve: As We End

July 16, 2017
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The eve of dusk: as its dark blue; velvet touch: threatened the sun; fell on the sky: as the clouds; swirled dark grey: and blew; on my eyelashes: like a tornado; as it engulfs the blade of grass: that stands like a stork: pierced a silver shade: that tears into the white of the air. Your shoes; stop before me: black; shined to perfection, shuffling on the polished floor: your mouth on the ground; your cheeks an apple red.
You stand; divided by a line, splitting the pavements; in three: and my eyes: ruffled by the green of your wristwatch; revolve around, like alley balls.
I wish I could remember: when we stood by the lake; the white: purplish colours; painting the mirror: with dusts of; violet hues: and the birds; perched up like robins: posing as if for a photograph: as we shattered the silence; with kisses.
And had my red shoe; sharpened into the ground, fixed to the floor; that wilted: its white petals: ruined now: its blemish: staining the memory; the baby pink; that carded my shoulder: the phone in my bag; ringing: ringing; ringing: but I did not answer.
And had my lips, red as a berry: pouted down: like a bow; as we stood in the circle: like two lovers: eating candyfloss in the carpark of a cinema. If we had eaten red cherries: then my heart does not stop: as you stalk me now, your shadow: mooning over my own.
And if your; curled head of hair: had dwarfed mine now: then we were never: the same: legs that had swung from the counter; the diner milkshakes: spilling into an ice-cream float.
Were we the same smiling couple; who had dialled up the gramophone: as if we were in old movies: and had sighed: as the fairy curtains closed: and shut the door; on intruders.
And if your bright; dark eyes: had not shielded me now: from the light from the exit: would the horses from the farm: have walked alongside us; as honeysuckle dusted over our heads. If your hat had not been red; would our sin have still: to have not wed: and would your laughter: have toned down to a song: that rose with the applause: that rung in my bag: now.
Like petals: frozen onto a cake; would I have cut it; like a heart; open, and would the audience have seen its insides; as I walked away.
Would I be red: as a blushing bride, or would the red wool; of the carpet: had tripped me up: and exposed my shame?
But I am not walking away now: and the wind; blows the door shut: and you and I, are standing alone; ten minutes to talk: and

one minute; to part.






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