January 23, 2005

• a djarum hangs loosely between my fingers, the ash slowly forming and
  dripping off the ends like a forgotton sieve. you are my watcher from
  the past, a remnant of a man i used to love.
  
  
  
  i know that you are there - waiting
  for me inside the bar. that you have set up the chess board in the
  corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the young ones. that you have placed the
  wine glasses next to each other, red to mirror white just as you
  reflect dreams of me. that the music is rife with beats and soul,
  lyrics and blunt obscenties barking out of the speakers like a life
  lived too much on the run.
  
  
  
  i know that you are seated
  there watching for me. that your eyes have changed to blue, the
  tattered navy sweater that i love bringing out the hue i adore the
  most. that your long fingers are idly playing the pawns against the
  bishops. your head tilted to the side as you graze the drinkers in their merriment. how your fingers itch to play.
   
  

  and how they felt against my skin
  

  
  
  the clove sputters and chokes
  as tobacco meets filter. i flick it into the street and watch the old
  man with his cane amble by. the draft swings up and my collar flips
  in response.
  
  
  
  
  i know you are waiting for me to saunter in. for the arrogant sway of my hip to catch your eye. for brown to meet blue.
  
  
  
  i cannot escape you. man that i used to love.
  
  
  

  you are the moth to my fire.

  
   

  • 11:08 am
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