A Lover Scorned

Fourth entry in the journaling game via twitter dated August 4, 2009

The clock ticks quietly as I hunger
for more of your phantom touch,
mouth watering as it remembers your taste.

My nose tingles in remembrance of your
scent, fresh as clean cotton but all I scent now
is the smell of wet earth, pungent with decay.

Sharp, cold, biting winds slash away my
warm memories of you, as I think of
all I would give, just to see your face again.

Laughter, tenderness, and passion forgotten
as an orchestra beats in my chest, as beneath
the hearts surface, the tree root of despair
breaks up the cement walls of betrayal.

Let’s go back to beginning, when our
kisses melted into each other’s mouths
when souls attempted to approach each other
in an awkward first dance.

We were symmetrical, two pieces abstract.
We were emotional thoughts, nurtured
in the love we shared.

I look at the mind picture of you, and a stray memory
traps me as I remember that your scent is like
a fine, full bodied wine that lingers after your gone.

But no more as shapeless clouds turn into illusions
that are attuned to the heartbeat of my silence as I
look upon your emancipated, alabaster corpse.

I endure your vacant eyes as you stare in
moody silence, my vile guard against sanity,
endless abyss of days to come.

Will you forgive me?