Age has made me better at evenings,
But I still imagine you as a night-owl,
Going to bed after I wake up
Having spent the night saying very little
To people with sitcom names.

Perhaps the passage of four years
Has changed you, even though
It seems you're merely hiding behind
Different words that don't quite
Seem to link up.

I wonder if I will ever stop
Writing about you...probably
When I find out whether
You ever wrote about me.
At times I thought I could
See myself in your writing, but
I never could trust myself to
Tell the fiction from the facts.

To me, you are still more
Than just a few photos.
I think you will always be
An enigma; a mystery that
I will never solve, a love
I will never explain.

You have a way of extracting
The reality from everything
So that I feel like we are
Not united in a common
Plane of existence.

You belong in opulent,
Half remembered dreamscapes,
Glass roofed cathedrals and
Vast, pillared halls.

Perhaps it was you that
I designed them for, so that
You would always be with
That sleeping brilliance that
Disappears when I wake.

09/03/2004

Posted on 09/06/2004
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince