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maybe the clearing of throats, first steps
bones stretched & joints shuffle
thoughts gathered around what was just dreamed
it felt like a few days
it was
just a few moments
seeming to be a series of beautiful things strewn across the floor
excitement, highs & lows all in one
a storyboard litters the floor
you review the scenes & wonder where their hands were, or the shape of her mouth when this memory was taken
you should've put that moment in your backpocket
saved it to savor later
brushing away the dust that's built up on the first few shots
you develop a timeline
cross referencing outfits you loved that she wore
those jeans that always fit right
how many times she made that smile you loved, that particular one
your not watching, your re-living the living
it was there
it happened, you can feel it in your skin
the touch, taste, growth of love
reaching under the bed to dust off the old tape-player
pressing play
you hear a murmur & then a loud cackle
seemed like the room was full
but it was just you two
the simplest things made joy
your reminded by the tones
the tunes
trapped in plastic & metals
maybe an exchange of precious stones, wouldn't rust
wilt as flowers do
plastic flowers don't
spray them with her perfume
dress them up in a simple vase
mist them to make them real
but that's been done
remember the others that weren't quite as pretty as fresh daffodil's in winter
the smell that would pass under you
the look you'd gaze off into, in the midst of a conversation, thought
this couldn't be winter
not now
It was a fire-place, a place to sit with something familiar
talk about the past, that's new, push & pull with someone willing to want to
seasons weren't reasons
faces, touched fore-arms
open, honest eyes that could dance a tear into a rain-drop & back again
sitting restless
wanting to want the want to disappear & come back again, anew
shifting, positioned in titles given & assumed
losing sight of the memories cluttered on the floor
the photos & recordings of moments past, not so far gone
reminded in quiet train rides alone
distanced hearts grow fodder
I want the spring of you sweet
like a drip from heaven to a mountaintop trickling down to a lakes mouth
I want the re-birth to be mystic
so many have tried to decipher the trail left behind
the photos slashed, cut, maybe burtn around the edges
may we create more mysteries for us to discover
become the never ending adventure not found in the seeking, that were sought there under...
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