still, I am consumed by
the raw poetical-ness of it all
I breathe the smell of your perfume,
filling my lungs so I may not forget
what you looked like
in the bitter moments,
like it was life
I try to memorise the curve of your lips,
the phrases inside,
too loud to think of a melody,
trying to be firm,
not curving into your falls and rises,
wondering if our souls could form
each others counterpoint
I contemplate my chances
when your thoughts manifest
to form expressions of beloved-ness
while I forgot to simply
return a smile
I observe how I turn around
at the sound of your voice in cold rooms,
inimitable
reminding myself of better virtues
maybe you loved me all along
oh, maybe I was right to assume,
my fear of indulgence
might look like retraction too