by Richard Vince
By means of an old German pop song,
You followed me to France, to
A queue in a hypermarket café
Hundreds of miles from the frozen
Pavements we trod on the same day.
When we shed tears, they made the
Inks of our lives run together, and
It is still impossible to see where
My colour ends and yours begins.
You are probably too busy to
Spare me a thought nowadays,
To reflect on the image that cracked
When you dropped me and I ceased
To be a mirror of you.
My life is too full to be taken up
With thoughts of you, and yet
There you are, waiting just below
My consciousness and appearing, unbidden,
Whenever an unexpected reminder
Pierces the armour I can never
Make thick enough to defend me.
Do I occupy the same place in
Your mind, or is it only me that is
So pathetic as to be unable to
Leave behind those who send me away?
Posted on 10/07/2013
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