Eclectic Lesson

Reflex | May 29, 2011

Abigail smells of adult fragrance,
Of automobile leather,
Of cigarette smoke,
And cubicle fever
She feels foreign, but inviting,
Sheltered in wrapping paper,
Upholstered in all sides by post stamps,
Royal seals and “Fragile” labels

Found her in the twilight
Of a movie theater
In her dark heavens
From my noble underworld,
And protected by the fabricated night
I followed, and hunted,
And feasted on her careless demeanor
From the corner of my eyes

In dying sunlight, I grew younger
Young and foolish, quite tongue-tied
Throwing stones, every now and then,
To keep her ghost awake,
To keep that yearning at bay,
And portrayed indifference
In fear of being caught imploring,
Praying, requesting
For a fragment of absolute, perennial attention
The remnants of some long-lost,
Willfully-forgotten,
Notion of affection

Drank the night away
With wine and hopes,
Each one different from the other
And spoke with ashtray breath,
And blackened teeth
That spoke of loss and misunderstanding
And everything that placed her
So far away from me

Though I meant to stay apart,
I was pulled and pinned
To her permanent spot,
From which I orbited ´til dawn,
Caressed by her lullabies,
Singing me to sleep,
Chanting that we shouldn´t be
Closer than that

And I sank into anticipated sorrow,
Knowing there would be no love, nor lust,
No word nor letter,
That would bring her back to me
In my dreams, I welcome her back
From her voyage to the void,
And her baggage makes no harm
But heals our muted heartache.

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