Memory and Sigh
(I am but a memory and you remain but a sigh.)
To grow old – a thought spiralled
in the morning sink.
To keep quiet – a bouquet of rotten flowers,
that remained in the air,
sticky taped like children’s silence.
A single leaf waves in winter.
To spell your name in quiet breaths,
like unseen footprints in no mans land.
A space between smiles that became bare.
Organic but not at close grasp,
the alphabet fell from tongue to lungs.
Dust precipitates in the universe.
Our voices disintegrate,
suspended in the quiet air.
Lucia Sellars – luciasellars.blogspot.co.uk