Will that be enough?

 

 

 

 

I see you sometimes now,

your spectacle frames through mine
your eyes of dandelion;
your voice rasps a little
against my inner membrane
a feline cough and purr
against the nap of where I hear;
stick figures of memory march
in the convolutions of veins,
have I loved you enough
before I let you go?

 

I tend the same gardens

cook the same hot meals
in the same dented saucepans;
yellow sludge of lentils
the same wooden utensils
with their edges broken
in all the same places
and each grain of your faces;
did I grip you hard enough
before you left my table?

 

The milk of the afternoon

curdles quickly into evening;
my hands fumble at switches
you let go of your knitting,
the sacred incense somewhere
lets its unctuous fragrance wisp in
trailing the bells and conch
doing the jangly rounds of temples,
the moon with a pointy beard
waxed stiff at his chin.



I touch your chicken-skin forehead
without having an inkling
did I touch you gently enough
when I saw you out to the darkness?





Shared at dVerse where the prompt this day invites us to to sweat the small stuff and write in technicolour 3D HD...