Thursday, October 20, 2011

traces of love

she's in the centre of her room
her life
plates with cream left on them
on the floor
but with rubbed off make up
a trace of laughter can be tracked down
in an empty glass

pale woman
try not to sing the same tune
blue after blue
alone at home

she knows he felt for her
when she spiraled down so
still, she feels uneasy with her own thoughts
but the scent of lilac
the feel of springtime
though just ghostly
mauve after mauve
they are still there

washing thru her wiley hair