beneath the grey, slow pit-pat-pit
of rain on the morning window
the memory, still half-awake, grows warmly
how you vanished, a fog in the bourbon-soaked streets.
how you asked
‘do you have a cigarette for me?’
and I said ‘I’m your man’ and you smiled
and almost laughed, and asked
‘do you have a cigarette for me?’
how we talked about Paris and Hemingway
– had to shout into the thick, dull roar of dance –
and I asked ‘Can I get you a drink?’ and I turned around
and you were gone.
And I tried to remember what it was I was going to tell you.
And I drank your drink.
And I went outside to smoke
and to forget.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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You certainly get better every year (and I'm only on AllPoetry once a year, it seems). Seriously, you're a great writer and that's that
Emotive and haunting. Great job! Hope life is treating you well.
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