Post-It

I know your face only in the phosphorescence

Of a fictitious dawn,

In the surreal glow of

Your dis mem bered journals

I still find your post-its adhered to the walls

like retiring

moths

They console me like winter, through the amplification

Of a s

t

a

g

g

e

r

i

n

g contrast

=

You left, prematurely                before love could

Abolish resistance. I am more h o r i z o n t a l

Than v

e

r

t

i

c

a

l

These days wrapped up in

the nostalgia of self-perpetuating m-i-s-e-r-y

(this is more first real attempt at playing with the form, I do not have much of an artistic sense about this sort of thing okay I have NO artistic sense about these things but it was a fun experiment just the same)

Unconditional

There is nothing that I hold

Sacred, which does not have

Your elvish prints scattered

Upon it, you, who have no

Desire for space or privacy,

You who are like a door

With rusted hinges always

Evident in presentation

=

Words do not deliver my

Secrets to you, my emotions

Are butterflies of intimation,

Which you cleverly pluck from

The ether. I watch as you spin

Nuance delicately around China

Doll fingers in an effort to

Riddle me out and I wonder

How you, with your intuitive

Attention to detail, can

Love me up close

=

(Even before I had children I always imagined them to be perceptive but now that I have a 5 year old daughter, I know for a fact that they are psychic! My daughter has an uncanny and disorienting knack for asking very specific questions about my private thoughts. The trust small children have for their parents is the purest trust I know. The picture is of our hands should have found a better background lol)

Submission for

Theme Thursday