You Stayed To Talk

Jun 14, 2008 - 00:16 AM PST

Each crease is a memory; each stain, an argument.
My own face in your eyes,
Transfixed, this preposterous situation
Has haunted me long before in beaten dreams,
Amongst silly aspirations of satisfaction.
Futility is the melody forever ringing through my drums;
Hopelessness my neighborly barrier.
This is my meaning in rebirth.
After three long years, mistakes are eerily permanent,
And after three long nights,
My brittle brain has dispersed all recollections of my open heart,
Up against a Toyota that became your Mercedes for those thirty minutes,
And amnesia was reported for the event, my love.
Continuation will continue to be an impractical task,
As the fluidity of our speech has been left in the icebox,
With our crystalline pulses and unfaltering caution.
Yet I would yearn for the possibility of one more mistake,
If it promised me your complete presence,
And the power in the small of your back, under my desperate grasp.
Each crease is a memory; each stain, an unquenchable desire,
All in the consequence of your satin necktie.