I read your poems yesterday. <br />and found flat between the pages <br />an unnamed flower someone gave you, <br />while you walked the streets in love. <br /> <br />we were almost more than <br />I can imagine now. <br /> <br />and I found severed worms, growing tails and heads, <br />and metaphors <br />and those singing moments; <br />all the fine art of living and remembering, pulsing <br />on a cool white pages as if blood flowed from your pen. <br /> <br />If I gather you up, place you across paper, <br />arrange your limbs, smooth your brow and brush back the hair that hides your eyes... <br />I will still lose you to the turning of a page. <br /> <br />life stops mid-sentence, <br />though we continue to walk among the choirs of leaves <br />and moments.<br /><br />Eila Mahima Jaipaul<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stone-will-seal-what-time-already-has/
