Love was understanding: the battle rages on <br />inside my head, inside my lungs, even after <br />love has gone. <br /> <br />Tonight the air is filled with a gasp, <br />a sigh and tangible memory. Embrace the chasm <br />to feel your abandonment rush over, <br />your otherness exhausts me. <br /> <br />But you are not with me, <br />though I feel your presence <br />in the last breath the sun takes- <br />in the final embers of day, you are with me. <br />No, your memory is what cleaves <br />the twin silences: mourning and solitude <br /> <br />I can taste the passion still, <br />the beads of sweat, hot breath. <br />The slow probe of your urgent tongue <br />- <br />so quick to impinge me, your existence <br />my slow disease. A kiss <br />arrested by the wind <br />that had leapt from your lips- <br />meant for the wound that seeps <br />in the burrow of my breast, <br />where once the pain of your daily offering <br />came for resting- <br />I miss the way you missed me <br />when you were turning in for the night. <br /> <br />Wandering through the dark hours- alone <br />wanting to imprison my body <br />in your arms, forever <br />- <br />but here, with out you tonight, <br />the stars have fallen from twilight’s womb <br />or maybe my eyes have wintered. <br />The angels who used to lull me into rest, <br />are sirens who lure me down <br />into a purgatory of tumultuous sleep- <br />The hours are relentless, <br />each: beautiful acts of masochism. <br /> <br />This moment, autumn has begun, <br />They’ve come to the fields, slaves <br />ready to reap whatever’s left in the wake. <br />And I can’t remember <br />the names of all the seasons I’ve weathered <br />in your absence, nor the fields I’ve planted- <br />And yet tonight, like the slaves, I’ve come. <br />Ready to reap my portion of the ruins.<br /><br />Amberlee Carter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/living-in-the-aftermath-of-a-dream/
