White washed walls a coat.
So the memories aren’t smeared,
But contained. Breeze and drops prove
The past so powerful.
Defenceless against a civil war
A pool of memories empties over
Each corner, ceiling, cleavage cut open
Your grateful smile, a touch and
A playful chuckle that colours,
Here, manifests itself on a 2 am shadow
A still fan, dropping lights
And frozen fires.
It rises like ponds holding water
blisters on paint.
My skin it breaks under memories
Scratched to let your love ooze out
Ive been reminded of the flower you gave.
