Notes from The Concordia

Timing

It's in the timing she says as we look at the floor,

Blood mixed with glitter mark the gentleman's fall.

The red and the gold can't halt the breath,

So heavy. Our friends help to lower a wreath,

Of flowers from her hair and a stud from her nose.

Its in the timing she says whilst wearing my clothes.

So we bury our feelings in bundles of threes,

And I try not to feel for the rip in her jeans,

While the thought burns through me and breaks my sleep.

I hoped for a little of her for me to keep.

Still, a gentleman tried and fails not to care,

And he still keeps the wreath that he stole from her hair,

Though the flowers wilt and the memory fades,

Conversations forgotten. We marked out the days,

With questionable expressions of gentlemanly ways,

That play out in my head again and again.

Its in the timing she says as she kisses my cheek,

Closes the door,

After exactly one week,

Walks into the haze,

Looks back,

Waves,

And becomes small,

As I drive away,

And then gone.