Writings of a Phobophobe.
As we touched down,
Securities were tight.
Children with fake guns,
Couldn’t alight.
Streets were shining,
With neon lightings.
As though hiding,
The shady mornings.
Enough time in 362 evenings,
To learn about the dangers lurkin’.
Sometimes there’re gunnings,
And people start runnin’.
Dubious but extravagant,
It’s a complicated city.
There’s no constant — I’m certain,
We’re in Las Vegas, baby.
In the crowd
I saw your face.
It reminded me
Of a familiar place.
We were huddling
Around the furnace.
Pottery,
In each other’s gaze.
We were crazy
In a mad love daze.
Fell out
After 306 days.
You said,
“Can’t keep up with the pace.”
I said,
“This is not a bloody race.
We should be partners,
In a lifelong maze.”
Others thought
I seem unfazed
I told them,
‘Honestly, I frequent this place.’
I had your number – saw you last summer.
I dreamt of you riding a bicycle.
You were Canada, chasing your dreams
12 hours apart or more so it seems.
Stayed up to catch the 9am dew,
So we could have conversations around your schedule.
We talked about sadness and psychology,
Knowing you felt like a real prodigy.
Through tiny screens I saw aplenty,
Tree, beaches and the vast sea.
I remember you made me a promise,
To sneak in where carousels are – in a theme park’s premise.
It’s been years now we’ve drifted afar,
But I’ve never forgotten what you said in the car.
“With a memory capacity superhuman, how do I forget the taste of those lips?”
Memory can be a gifted curse.
killgwen 