sepia love

the fragrance of an old memory
comes alive in sepia tones
across distances of love
a faint heart beats again.

Bouquets of your letters-
the hues of faded passions
sit pretty in a vase
next to the book case
peopled by your gifts-
yellowed tatters of our history
stare from each shelf
waiting to be repeated.

this is not a museum of love.
it is a moment in time.
frozen
until i let this grain of sand
slide off my palm.

you

you used to be the rain
i rushed out to soak myself in.
now it is but the onslaught
of unrequited loves of the world.
noisy anguished droplets of discontent
tiring in their constancy
unforgiving in their censure
rain down on my roof
while i wait
in unhurried anticipation
for their stories to end.
while i wait
for you.

i find you
in the minty freshness
of after rain.
you are the puddles
i jump and revel in.
sullied. But free.
wholesome in their splashes.
you are the newly sprung leaflets
on my bare branches
that dance free style
to the music of penetrating quiet.
you are the pigeons
come out of hiding
to reclaim their skies.
the open windows
rusted in the mold of the past
breathing in
the vast expanse of the new, the now.
you are the aftertaste of rain.
the intoxicating breeze
infiltrating my senses
making its way to my head
in a cold rush of gelatinous passion.
Brain freeze.