August 31, 2018
I think of past lovers.
I think of present lovers.
Old lovers still present.
Invisible ribbons of perfume caress my face as I speed in my motorcycle under the shadows of falling leaves—and there you are, in the lavender, in the orange blossoms, against the rose and the vanilla, with your toes in the cool creek, amongst the sunflowers, in the green fighting the fall.
Past lovers whimper in pain.
Present lovers blow kisses with all the warmth they can muster.
Forgotten lovers lay in bed half asleep reaching for my body.
The silence that is late night traffic crashes in waves against my spider infested apartment walls—they spin dead roaches, cradle still flies, broken leaves tremble amid the tangle, and here I am…aching back against the wall—typing these words, hoping they reach you…
In the past.
In the present.
In the nirvana of this nothingness.
∞
