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Thursday, September 13, 2007

An Incandescent War

You were only twenty at our final meeting
When I first caught the greys in your hair,
Head resting against the table, in morning sun
Sitting in that cafe for a final time,
I lovingly touched them all, so close to you,
Your signal perfume still made the desire in me
Awaken, the sea slushed papery, a fluid sheath
Of noise that drowned us out, the wind
A humming sound above its draw, crickets tumbled
Among the vines above as I forgave you
For everything in that one breath of you,
The obliterating strangeness like a tide
Emptied the bubble in my chest, an incandescent war
The sea burst and become a part of something
Entire, whether of sun and air, or goodness
And knowledge, it did not matter.

You were only twenty and I forgave you and myself
As tourists threshed in the terrible heat,
The naked sun burning as if it could set us on fire.
Like a mirage against that blank horizon,
Our mouths locked against each other
The words slowly disappearing,
My hands still on the greys in your hair,
Wanting to be like the blank spaces of no colour
With their potential, but simply being strangers
Of grey in a place of youthful hair.

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