Decade (And Then)

they scramble for names and labels, when confronted by this,
by us, by our decade of pain and of revolution
and of love, and how it sinks into my skin when your hand touches my body

by the wave of your hair away from your face,
the gentle curve of your brow,
your bitten lip, your pianist's hands
my dearest of Romantics

I remember nights with your head in my lap
your tears burning like snow
weeping, weeping over nothing and everything
and how boneless and silken you felt in my arms
falling apart and falling together.

your eyes are not the colour of the sky,
but instead, the colour of early spring
timid, gentle, but intrepid
sure to grow, to bud, to blossom
and like so many flowers, die at the height of your beauty

(I have kept your tragedy secret, secret
your bravery and your memory belongs to me.
there are nights without stars where
your absence burns in me like thunder
like screaming into the night sky; but
the stars do not care
or if they do, they cannot do much else
than shine down still, the way they do
when the world is spring-coloured and inflorescent.)

rose petal, lily leaf, I spent hours and hours
kissing the lips of irises
remembering and imagining your own shy skin
ghosting across mine

ten years later, there were no ghosts
just a simple memory of you
and you, there
hair as of sunlight, eyes sky-stained and clouded
melancholy and hopeful and blissed
l'amour, l'amour, toujours
je t'aime, je t'adore

time will not fade
not for us
the ephemerality of the flowers
escapes us
for some things are are inflorescent, beautiful
and also eternal
some things such as you & I.

you and I, we shall create our own Romance.

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