it was a new city
i wore new jeans
gathered feathers
put them to the test
negate the chance
of it being true
i made a plan
to talk to you
a flying elephant
i saw the show
i waited for the trick
what a plague
it drew
strings were set
you dropped a card
i followed through
the circus was subtle
the vegetation thick
it covered your wounds
it made me sink
homesick
but not for long
a swing a crash
a deluxe
cardboard box
all in place
to talk to you
slither above
shut your door
but not for long
silence crept
pulled you down
in front of the room
not left nor right
you held your bottle
like a light
it could have been
a message on a beach
a french weekend
what could it be
the perfume i wore
the house you built
the roof you shook
the ghost i used
the pillow you choked
the seat i took
the song you played
but not for real
to set the record straight
it was just a ruse
to talk to you
you were so grade A
you were so close
you were blinding
did i shiver
did i blink
i ran away
with the taxi driver
i got crushed
by a flying elephant
before i could return
to tell you about the spark
you left in my room
how the iron fell
on my toes
of a whisper barely broken
upon your heart and sleeve
about the gift and greed
of that afternoon
this is not a poem
this is not a secret
it is just my way
of saying...

Labels: artform, mood, notes, To a person who never returned to the world