A nameless dairy, no address on it.
Written on the torn pages, was a soul.
Trapped in it.
Under the moon and stars I am.
Sleepless. Wide awake.
I have bathed in this night’s ink.
I have turned darker.
Darker than you left me.
Do you remember our cold, sleepless nights?
The way we warmed ourselves by the warmth of each other’s body.
The way you slept on me.
The way I covered myself with you.
Do you remember?
Between the lines, over the leaf, it was written,
Pages stained with teardrops read:
My heart still pains,
Sadness hitting me like the waves hit the rocks.
Eddies of blood and slashed flesh I smell.
I remember your name,
It makes love to my heart,
The way wine does to my brain.
I remember you a lot, I see.
Don’t you remember me?
For time is a ball of wool,
Everyone cuts out their own cloth,
The shirt I had weaved is now torn.
I know my time has come.
You don’t remember me anymore, I know.
For I am an old forgotten poetry.
Scribbled on torn pages,
Hid under a tree.