“I’ve had the time of my life….yeah, I’ve never felt this way before…and I swear….that’s it’s true…I owe it all to you…”
I’m living a dream and this is the music playing in the background. There’s something in the air – I smell rebellion, change, salt and the stirring of affection. I would have said love, but one can only use that word after careful consideration about the consequences on the object of your affections. I have considered it – it is not love.
Rebellion:
I want to remember what you told me
about staying good and pure and untouched.
But your words will drown this little spark
that’s growing into a burning flame.
I will not. To hell with what you told me
about staying untouched and pure and good.
I will drown out the din of your words
With change. With salt. With stirring.
Change:
The sunny skies are are changing colour.
It is not a comforting grey or a tired black
that’s bleeding into the yellow and white.
It’s Red.
Orion foolishly bleeds to death.
The mortal woman weeps. She knows not
if the occasion calls for tears of joy or sorrow
but she weeps.
Let the gods of change decide their cause.
Salt:
I tasted salt on your lips that night.
The buttery popcorn had left it’s mark on your distinctive mouth
and I smiled through our kiss when I tasted it.
I remember that day now because the same taste once gain invades my mouth
not quite the same.
The salt in my tears don’t taste the same without the softness of your mouth on mine.
No popcorn. No foolish flights of fancy. No you.
Just salt – my only memory.
Stirring:
And just like that you leave -
a wisp of smoke delicatley coiling away into a tango with the wind -
tempting me to try and catch you,
reminding me of the intoxication that preceded your departure.
But the bruised heart stirs up an almost-forgotten primal longing.
The need for blood.
Incensed, I wait in angry anticipation for the taste of metal in my mouth.
The anger flares into a frenzy
and I wake up with the remnants of a now broken dream.
You’re gone.