I remember days perfumed
With sad songs, melancholy
Lyrics penned for life’s best feelings.
They explore the oneness of grief
And joy. The sameness of ecstasy
And depression.
When we were the songwriter’s words
You were unbelievable. I wrote songs
And performed them on the streets
Of doubters to prove that a union
Of human hearts could thrive eternally.
I sang aloud, proud, of robust laughter
That charged my blood, of ecstatic
Dances upon silken sheets hours
After fowls had slept, of mixed scents
Of sweat broken in labour of pleasure
And of softest haunts of lavender
Lingering beyond upcurling dinner smoke
And its tang.
You cut me.
The nib of my pen has lost its flow
And I have lost my singing voice.
It was never much of a voice anyhow.