By force

Posted: August 30, 2015 in Thoughts


It’s not the wine,
and not the sheets that you chose one pale Wednesday morning;
it’s not your smile, not your scent, not you;
not you my little princess, not you.

I was hanging there,
roaming the little space between life and death,
between the poetry and the sane,
when little details of a distant past started to knock me down, and it is not you.

It’s the unknown my little princess, the unknown.
Not the way you held your fork or removed your bra,
Not the shaking of your legs when I touched your spine,
Not the way you curled your toes when I kissed your tummy,
Not you, not the blemishes on your skin.

It’s the unknown my love, the unknown.
Not the way you smiled when I watched you eating,
Not the way you fell asleep in my guilty arms,
Not the way you moaned when we locked our souls. 
Not you, not the music in your voice.

It all came to me when I was fighting the monsters who lived
between the words of the poet in me and the breath of the man.

It’s not the rings, wrapped around your fingers like snakes,
not your tribal dress and not the way you threw it on my floor,
not your late texts and not your beautiful mess,
not the times you wrapped your hair around my neck,
it’s not how hard you grabbed me, not how easy you made me smile,
not you, not you, it’s not you.

It’s the sudden void.
The void of simple details.
It hit me tonight.

The fan in my room stopped for few minutes, the noise was gone and silence invaded me,
no; not silence, but void, the void of memories.
We made love all summer while this noise was playing in the background like a well tempered
cello, never missing a note, I got used to hearing it roar while you moan.
The void, the room, the time, the noise, the fan, your skin.
It’s not you my love.
I looked to my right, not to see if you were there, but only to remember that it is not the same fan; the one who played for us was broken and I bought a new one.
New one my little princess, new noise, the air was still moving in the room, but your scent was gone with the little fan that played cello while we played poetry.
Comforting noise, new fan.

My memories ran fast to a time where you used to lay naked by my side and I watched you talk and move for hours, and everything was in heat, and I remember the colors, red, yellow and orange.
The fine winter nights we spent by the light of the heater; remember the little white heater I had? Remember how I used to tell you that its light used to make your skin glow like a galaxy? How the combination of your divine curves and the shadows used to captivate me and render me speechless for hours? It was broken too, and I got a new one.
Next winter there will be new heated lights in my room, little princess.
Colors of slightly different intensity, shadows of different projection.

See love?
It’s not the poems I wrote when we met
and not the songs I wrote when you left.
It’s the unknown, love, oh dear love, it is the unknown.
It’s the noise and the light,
your moans and your skin.
It’s the unknown.

It’s the void that will be filled by force.
It’s not the wine,
not your lips and their exotic blend of colors;
it’s the new fan and the newest heater.
It’s the unknown that is coming,
the void that will be filled by force;
it’s the sad truth that seasons are moving forward and I find myself moving with them;
I did everything my little princess, everything.

I am so afraid of next winter, love, because I know I won’t be cold.
And it won’t be you.

By force.


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