Thursday, September 12, 2024

ink stains June 22, 2012

 



 I can still smell the ink

 mingling with the scent 

of her perfume

 from our last visit here,

 the man with ink for blood, 

not visible, 

though the “for sale” sign on the door 

said something sad,

 how things come and go,

 how what we hope will 

serve as foundation of a future, 

falls to pieces 

even after only these few months,

 this place one of a number

 of such stops on a station of the cross

 I have come back to reexamine, 

to see what it was I missed 

that led us both so far astray,

 the diner, the walk, the peck of a kiss, 

memory in a fog that defies

 even the brightness of days,

 for him, for us, the end of a road 

we did not know we had taken

until it stopped.

I miss her, that moment,

 even if she makes mockery of it,

 of me laying blame on my shoulders

 perhaps as it should be.


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