Memento: Poetry



How I would sit on the steps
with a clove cigarette,
wise smoke dancing circles
around the fireflies of my thoughts
those stars, so brightly lit and devious,
from a time when I dreamed of more

Maybe I needed to believe 
the serenity of being
existed in reliving
those incredible seconds
where life existed
within the span of time 
it took for your lips to meet mine

Now this is my memento,
these scintillating scars lingering
long after the smoke departed
and the cinnamon taste has turned stale
but I touch each one 
and remember there was a time
when there were none

And for that reason only
I let you walk away clean.



Blog Archive