UnTitleD #Poetry

She was a part of him
She is still a part of the theme
Of the walls of his now empty house
He sees her invisible self
Smudged butt naked next to the book shelf
Then transparently printed on kitchen floor
Her scent is also stuck between his sheets
Locked in his haven's atmosphere
As if to make it complete
Even without no longer being there.

She was a part of what he touched
She is still a part of his grey couch
He sometimes feels
Her softness drowning his lips
Her mythical enchanting deeps
Killing him ever softly
Her round eyes betraying her eagerness
To be only his
Forced gravity to deny his manhood a chance
To defy falling madly this once
For when she took away his heart to nurse it
She claimed it with her innocence
While blazing down the threshold to his softness.

She was a part of his past
She is still a part and parcel of his cursed present
Surely she can't be there in his future
That will be more like reapplied torture
As he can't yet digest
Why his mind is hell-bent on this impossible quest
Of dragging her memories everywhere
Of wishing that cupid would use a spear
For her heart to become his again
For her reassurance to melt away his pain
But he is solely responsible for her leaving.

By AlexasFotos from Pixabay.

Some freewrite poetry...

BQ.