Words

Took a walk down the road that she said I’d been on, took notes of the words I’d forgotten. Those I could remember, could be returned to sender if I weren't now the only one. My conscience is bleeding, I'm tying up knots in my stomach and kneading them out like emptied lots in the night, quiet, deadly silent, fading with the fog. Let it come clear and I’m still here, silent, waiting on that song spoken so softly, of old lovers in repair; a promise to another in the end I’d see you there.