Plying Forms

The broken bottle
Lying in an amber spill,
The stools toppled like
Memories of a cherished past;
Who were we, thinking love lasts?

The music was such,
Bright magic in which we could play,
Until we forgot
We were only mortal too,
Disassociating us.

I said, “I love you,”
Because I have, always will.
You answered, “I know,”
And that is the reason, dear,
We were never together.

In the eaves lie leaves
Scattered, plastered like these dreams
Only echoing;
Waste to be driven away
Discarded on barren ground.

Sometimes I write us like a new thing as if we shine diamond bright. In reality, we were the stolen pleasure of a season, a forever consisting of only a few love drunk nights. The dust, rust, tarnish gather as the moments further recede into the emptiness of history.

I have hidden all
There remains of my power
But more battles come;
I will not whimper, beaten,
I shall don my armor, sword.

Walking toward what
Defines this deviant hour,
Ready to exclaim,
“The past fades into distance,
Our present embraces a change.”

Your touch sends ripples,
Sensation through my body,
After so long, much.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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