Sunday, December 16, 2007

of hurried whispers,
giggles in an
old ruined house.

Unsteady hands
that once
steadied yours
fingers intertwined.

when we used to dance
now spent in
a dark smoke-filled room.

Tight embrace
fingers running
along a collarbone
now a lost feeling.

I hate you
for showing me
that doesnt last.

Empty face
you mean nothing to me
you're just another
sepia memory.