August

 

Time flies as if flying was an art unknown to birds,
And it lingers like the breath in your voice,
Your sweet nothings,
Your shrieks,
Your tingles and shivers,
Your I-Love-Yous.
In a dark and quiet room,
Dark with lies,
Silenced by the truth that’s you.

 

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Emily

 

Last night as I was listening to some music from long ago,
Suddenly, clank, clank, down a picture frame fell from my cupboard,
And there you were, Emily, sixteen, young, sweet, pretty, and coy,
In ponytail, all smiles with those braces, in blue uniform.
How will I forget what a beautiful puppy our love was?
The chocolates and roses I’d given you before you said yes
To my childish, serious, long overdue two-year old question:
Can we still love each other even after tertiary school?
Looking back, the blue straps of your baby brassiere screaming,
The smell of your powder and cologne so raw, fresh, still vivid,
We would hold hands on the jeep, in the library and canteen,
Till they saw us walking from reality to our dreams.
I’d feel you through your hands, innocent hands that had caressed none.
I could see lion eyes, full of juvenile rage and envy,
Attempting an unwelcome entry to our territory.
How nice it was to guard you, my queen, your hands all mine but now gone.
Now I’ve failed so miserably in life in more ways than one:
My life’s turned the wrong way where I’d promised I’d never take you,
And you’ve been everywhere with him upon whose hands you’ve put your love.
While me, my hands and tears on your face, my night the bluest of blue.