I am alone, restless within my twisted sheets
sleep – does not permit me the ease
to merge into the night.
You painted me pictures –
wrote me stories about moving on.
No bended knee promises; only a man making plain
his reasons to be gone.
The flowers you presented me, are each speechless.
Cold bygone relics;
wrapped up in their culpable scent.
They grasp their own acceptance
heads drawn towards the new days light.
I ask, of time:
face me not in the eye, today.
Tomorrow I will try, to make myself move on!
Yet if corners are to be turned
then let them be, where we can meet.
So once again I can say….
Il m’a fait un bisou
though I’ll accept, being just your friend… –
Poppy October 15th 2013 ~xx~