Wednesday, May 11, 2011


I am scared
Of calling it a dream
For it may never
Come true

But there you were
Holding the lighter
The way no one else does
As if it were a pigeon, sitting
On the palm of your hand,
Facing you
Your tall fingers sheltering it
And then, as if you were
Stroking its feathers with your thumb
You rested your thumb on the trigger

Tilting your head
Tapping your cigarette upside down
On the packet
Before lighting it
Your way.

Rituals, bloody rituals,
Are what separate the thought of you
From the rest of
My world.

May 11th, 2011