my memory
picks up the pace, sets the face
you shall wear in the evening when I go to dine
at fancy restaurants and empty saloons in a mind alone
I can no longer place your eyes

my memory
picks the setting, sets us here
it is evening and my second skin is sweeping onto yours
spun of dreams, spiders' whisperings and dew
reveal your face, stop the pace

my memory
dark and dangerous, as you are
clothe me in your words and deceptive praise
heard a long time ago in an old castle now crumbling
I can no longer place your eyes

my memory
chiming now, a single voice
it is evening and I wonder where I've heard all of it before
heart of dreams, spiders' whisperings and dew
places your face, clear now

my memory

 

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.