The Poem
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The poem This is the poem I wrote last night While you were sleeping in my bed. We're never content to live in the moment but I swore to myself that I'd make it enough just to have you in a blink, in a breath. As the memory shimmers and the days roll on like clouds, like trains, like sirens. This is the poem I wrote to keep you, to remake you, to forsake you, to forget you to shed you, to slough you off, to wear you like a cross, to wound you, to bewitch you, to hеal you, to have you to be like voodoo, a talisman, to bе your albatross, to be the one to redeem you, to be the one who numbs you, to be the only one who you call lover, the one who makes mist from your mortar, who turns your stone into ether. This poem is black magic, extortion a landscape, a portrait, a screenplay, an instant replay, props on a stage. The days march on like soldiers, they have their orders. We're never content to live in the moment but I swore to myself that I'd make it enough just to have you in a blink, in a breath. This is the poem I wrote last night. This is the poem I wrote last night While you were sleeping in my bed. We're never content to live in the moment but I swore to myself that I'd make it enough This is the poem I wrote to keep you So I could wear you like a cross As the memory shimmers, the days roll on like clouds, like trains, like sirens
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