Misty Blue

I'm not in the happiest of moods lately. You know, "dreaming with a broken heart" and all. It is said that pain passes like the storm, no matter the length of the rain. I guess it's the pieces we have to pick up afterward that are the real work, the real pain, to get over. The cleanup only happens with work. So I guess I've got a part-time job.

Regardless, I won't let life keep me from feeding the fire I've just rekindled. Here's a WIP (work in progress, as always) I just finished. Like two minutes ago.

The Last Kiss

How he could look
and see through
me like we
never touched
hands

how he could
so easily
let me be forgotten,
dismiss my essence
when it enthralled
him just
yesterday

how he, a master
of verbs,
could not know
the pain
of words unspoken--
a mystery--

how he could
say she's an
invisible dot
when i can connect
her to every
half-truth he's
kept secret

is that the way
it is?
or, just how
it should have been
from the beginning
before the first
kiss goodnight
became
the last kiss
goodbye--

how could he?

JGH 2007

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