Painting by Adriana Villagra
It is not him
but what his expression
unearths from yesterday’s wrinkles.
He knows not about (im)mutability
or persistence as my womb does.
He is here, taking my life to another
place, threatening my lightness
and oblivion.
What I feel only that downloaded
poetry book can understand:
my heart dissolves in water.
It is not him
but his echo reverberating
in my cold ears, causing waves
and new oceans where
sleepy mermaids dream.
He is my old home where
there is a maze of forget-me-nots.
What I feel, he feels too
when my hands can’t touch him,
when my eyes can’t see him
and we cry without wiping away
each other’s tears.
And shivering,
I apologize to him for
being nurtured by what
he evokes in me when
time swallows time,
leaving room for
the sun shines
through me again.
Karla Bardanza
mutabilit...){kind=link}
Your poems of love are so vivid. I truly admire your writing ability flower. tc
ReplyDelete