If you've forgotten what was beautiful, adjust the little rose just above your hair. Take the pictures and return them to their respective memories. Rub my abstract hand — my essence that was engraved in your heart — on your naive cheeks. Go back and sit on that bench where I rescued you from loneliness. Return to Calvary — the place of your salvation — where you heaped your cares on my fragile hands which kept stitching the havoc rupturing, mending your complexity in simplicity while it remained scarred in the process. Sing that song again, maybe it will slap off the ignorance tied to your reasoning, the bewitchment that has imprisoned your character. Caress that necklace crafted in true love by a pauper's bleeding hard work, the edges should be somewhat nostalgic.
The words from my dried lips
The sound of my feeble voice.
The heaviness of my breath
The courageousness, the price of my choice.
The way I usually smiled
The walks we took together that seemed like miles.
The childishness, the frivolity in our dreams
How you grimaced when I bought that beautiful seam.
The feeling of my hairy hands
When we ran playfully on emotional sand.
Our promise
All the nights, each other, we terribly missed.
The failed dance steps I took that made you laugh
The little food we managed to share into equal halves.
The cold nights I wrapped you with warmth
The taste I added to your life like salt.
The way I sanitized all your anxiety
With sacrifice and sobriety.
The way I painted your sky with rainbow colours
Clothed your blistered skin with pretty flowers.
The spice
The aroma
The life
Of pure romance.
The little paradise I created in your hell
The strong hand that seized your yells.
The mountain, your shelter from the storms
The builder of your dwelling, that place you called home.
The acceptor of your flaws —
that embroidered past dropping jaws.
Our connection
Our affection.
My dark eyes
Your daily cries
For substance of edification
And your own art, your modifications
To this world
Your own voice, your own words
If you've forgotten what was beautiful
If you've forgotten where I picked you
If you've forgotten how I loved you
And still do....
If you've forgotten...
Then don't ever remember again. Cause when you do... I'll forget you.
YOU ARE READING
Wicked
Poetry...If I tell you you're my sun and moon If I tell you you've completely unwrapped my cocoon If I tell you I'm still alive Because I find life in your eyes If I tell you this emotion is wicked And even if it kills me, for hell or heaven, I'm prepared...
