In the city of lights, the city of love, there I was
without them both idly observing passersby
outside a café one summer evening
pacing back and forth, stealing covert glances,
hoping for one to catch my eye.
Was someone out there to hold onto
or had each moment longed for escaped?
Heartbroken and alone,
the emptiness needed a fill.
In need of a drink combined with the heat
stroked the urge
to forget why I was there.
In a daze walking into that dark café,
it appeared those glances weren’t wasted.
A pair of hands slowly reached for mine
pulling me into the intimacy of the night.
Before I knew it, we were swept away
and headed back to his place.
Love bites marked a moment not soon forgotten,
a moment not to be hidden.
The marks of a lustful moment,
and a need to escape.
I was not my usual self.
I’m not always carefree.
I blame the drink and the city,
for its toxicity drowned me.
It was close to the time we arranged to meet
here on our favorite park bench,
the one that overlooked the town green.
I sat with a view of passersby,
taking a glance at my watch
every once in a while.
It was any moment now,
the ripping away,
the bandage stripping off.
We didn’t need the words,
we both knew it had come to this.
You walked up with a carefree smile
and an ice cream cone
to smooth out the tone.
Your tongue rounded the ice cream,
like the times it used to do the same to me.
We couldn’t get back to those times,
before we hurled hate and indifference,
before you’d throw the suitcase into the trunk and disappear
but return to say ‘it’s all okay, it never meant anything anyway.’
So here we sat
with an impending implosion of my heart
while yours left months ago.
I turned and asked for a bite,
as memory flashes recalled bites taken
from your ears and down your neck,
lustful moments that we’ll never get back.
“So, this is it?” I asked already knowing the answer.
“This is it. It’s okay, we’ll be fine,” you replied.
The words were empty,
spoken as if you had already left,
spoken to reassure me,
that I would be fine
but you had already sailed on
and this was all formality.
“Okay… okay. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to …” I insisted.
Your eyes met mine,
cold but still with a bit of care.
‘Are you sure?’ you persisted.
Nodding, I pulled the ice cream from your hand,
swirled my tongue around and tried to replace the image
where my tongue knew it had ought to be.
Have you ever used a poem generator? The following was composed with a few nouns and adjectives plugged into a poem generator and written to the structure of Robert Frost’s ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’. Not something I would normally do to construct a poem, but it may help those looking for ideas.
Whose heart is that? I think I know
Its owner is quite tragic though
It’s a sad tale of woe
Watching her, I cry out a hello
She gives her heart a shake
And sobs until the tears make
The only other sounds that break
The distant waves and birds awake
The heart is warm, longing, and deep
But she has promises to keep
Until then she shall not sleep
She lies in bed with ducts that weep
She rises from her bitter bed
With thoughts of sadness in her head
She idolises being dead
Facing the day with never ending dread