words

“Hold on tight”, you said to me,

hands on my waist, lips on my neck.

“Don’t let go”, is what you whispered,

every night, and I did, without

question or quarrel; fingers clasped,

arms locked around my lovers neck, feet

tipped on toes; top of the world.

I was your story, your future,

the words on your page- inked, permanent,

forever yours. That’s what you said to me,

hands on my waist, lips on my neck.

“Never forget” was your epithet of

choice, as we stood on top of the world;

King Kong and Darrow, against them all,

battling planes. And I didn’t, forget, not yet,

not for a moment, a second, never. “Remember me”,

you begged from our lovers bed, head on the pillow;

smirk on your lips- cigarette held precariously,

tipping; ash ready to fall. But That’s what you said

to me, hand on my hip, cigarette in your lips.

“I’ll be back tomorrow”, you said, that night,

hands on my waist, lips on my neck.

“Don’t wait up,” you told me, a glimpse

of love, I thought, twinkling in your eye.

I watched you go, sweet and slow,

rubbing your neck then wiping your hands.

A spring in your step, happiness, I thought then,

as you walked, minced, hands in

your pockets, promises on your lips.

“You’ll be back soon” I said, that day,

to myself, alone, over a stove, staring down

at boiling vegetables and searing meat.

“I’ll simply wait”, I remember saying, hopeful

to the end, that you would return, like you

said, in bed, in the door, like you’d told me before.

I remember it still, cold meat, feeling ill, the

burn in the pit of my stomach, it lasted for days,

weeks, as I thought, even then, hopefully, foolishly,

that it was all a mistake.

Soon I learnt, that words were weak and

feeble, not inked on a page; just drifts in the air,

Sounds that passed in seconds, moments,

weightless, lofty. It was triumph that I saw,

from the door, as you walked, not a spring. It

was mischief in your eye, as you lied, not love

like I thought, hoped, believed.

I ask myself ‘why’, but I know that

the words that I conjure will fly,

as you did, from my lips, empty, weightless;

eptithets, fits of rage, streams of conscious.

But I think, still, even now, how it felt

Your hand on my hip, lips on my neck,

As you promised the world and thought of

The sex.

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