September

All we had was September
pressed between us
like a thorny rose

You were writing that
book of poems
and finishing
a thesis

We would take the walks
searching shops
for vintage clothes

you and your Marlboros
me and my Chanel perfume,
your gift to me on the day
you said my eyes slayed you

I remember you watching
as I received my tattoo,
your eyes following the ink
as it snaked its way across my shoulder

and in our kitchen ~
how you made toast and jam
over the open burner

and your love
of Loreena McKennitt
on stormy nights

how you would tear up
wrapped in our quilt

wrapped in my love

There are a hundred stories
written where you lived,
less where you moved
and kept the hours in the rooms
we occupied

The grey lead pencil fingerprints
on the doorframe where you paused ~

I never wiped them off

I still see the fall leaves,
a burning pyre
carrying the scent of woodsmoke ~

and my red lipstick
smeared across your mouth

The night has grown colder,
soon the rain will fall
and roads will be slick
with the wet

but right now, Aurora blazes

and I am dreaming of the time
when you called me Cantata

.
© 8 years ago, damiho
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