My poetry for you

@Uootem

isolated in this silence
between the cold sheets of my bed,
not feeling this alone
since the moment you left.

I write with a anserine pen,
laden with the ebony ink
of obscure memories

my hand trembles
with this poetic emotion
that must find release
as the words I write
overwhelm, their number counted
in rain buckets
of well intended phrases
and of futile tears...
such inundation of passion
yet neither phrase or crying
can adequately satisfy to absence of
words that I should have said to you,
but did not when I had the chance.

The white pages before me
are mysteriously inviting,
like the freshly fallen snow
early on a winter morning
as I sip from the warmth
of black coffee from a kiln-formed cup.

I can smell the words
as they brew within me
their taste too bitter
to take straight
overly warm words that
can quickly burn the tongue
words to be sipped not gulped........
their drug awakens all my senses.

I write words that
are quickly haggard into shapes
like those I once scrawled in notebooks...
a heart with our initials,
two circles intertwined,
the seductive form of your mouth...
just doodles - perhaps

now tucked into cardboard boxes
in the attic or
lost forever
by the neglect of time.