It's me,
Jane,
calling again -
or writing my heart
into another electronic
impulse.

My last whisper
of love and need
evaporated into thin air
and these logical conclusions
went unnoticed, yet again.

I only wanted to reminisce,
of holiday bliss -
equatorial rendezvous -
but it seems
that my memories
far outweighed yours.

So, this is a codetta
to apologise for
the mute button
between my lips and
the stagnancy of the moment.

I've never quite been adept
at handling your presence.
So quiet and self-assured,
you exude calm
where I bleed calamity.

These last few months,
I've done nothing
but wallow in thoughts of you
and the myriad of "others" -
stapled together for
random lonely nights,
on the brink of terrestrial discovery.

I know these days
of hiding you in this space
are short-lived -
perhaps lost already.
And still, you are gone yet not forgotten
(though I am but a dead weight for you).

I am never the "she"
between your fingers,
on your lips,
under your toes,
on the edge of recollection.

But again, I return
to these old desires -
worn and woven into
less coherent patterns of thought.

And if you read
between my lines you'd know that
I only ever wanted to be
the song that you sing
or the next best thing.

PS: It's getting tougher to write you,
(even tougher not to).
Maybe next time,
I'll bite my tongue
- and drown in my own blood.

09/02/2003

Posted on 09/02/2003
Copyright © 2024 Karen Michelle