Dear You
Dear you,
the markings on my pink wall spelt us
with a pierced heart in between;
11:30pm, a black ink painted
across the letters a stroke
at a time, until they turned into a smudge
of hatred; regret; and lost love.
The pierced heart remained,
but the arrow was never that of
cupid, I realised it was
a poisoned arrow all along,
green venom dripped, jealousy, hatred
for a her I believed existed in your dreams
while you laid beside me
with your arms around my waist,
and eyes shut, you thought
of her till she became
flesh and blood, the one
who you named yours.
12am, I began to ponder
what if she never did exist,
and she never took your midnight hours
and your last name?,
streets in your head I never did cross
cos you never had my hand in yours.
It's a new day, but my thoughts are stale
'cos here I am asking if you still wanted
the heart to stay on the wall on display,
hidden behind my green curtains,
Only to be seen when I needed something
to cry about, and When the breeze blew in
swinging the curtains
to dry the tear drops falling.
I’ll ask again, do you want the heart to stay?
the heart no longer beats, but silly me, it never did,
although there was once I felt it did,
the night I pressed my trumpet ears
beneath your left breast,
it was magical, the thumps called my name,
an electric wave of an EKG bouncing till it fell flat
the moment you cut our lines, and I couldn't reach you.
Dead!, it was,
dead from the very start,
a mere marking never meant much
to you, because you weren't there when I made us
into the markings, Immortalised on my pink wall,
and now you ain't here still, when it's all gone.
part of me knew you were a fantasy
in stormy clouds, but I still dreamed,
and when that rain fell
veiling the sun that we had,
I knew it was time to let go
and free fall back to sleep
where the night mares were less,
and my bed was cold
with just my heat.
It's time to go,
it's time to let the smudge dry
with my tears of you this hour.
9am, I walk down the street
and say how do you do?
as though I never thought of you,
as though I was complete.
Copyright © Deborah Dambani | Year Posted 2017
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