Oh, boy here's another?!?!

This is another yearnful attempt "I Had Forgotten"-- I don't know if it's done; but as a writer I acknowledge no work is really done, but this is as done as it'll be for now.

I had forgotten
So many years I grew without
The smell, bitter and suffocating
Everywhere
In the living room clinging to walls and fabric
In the kitchen, the hall, the bathroom
I could stand it
Barely;
But in the bedroom where you slept
So neat everything was left
I hug your pillows and I can smell
The faint scent of your aftershave;
I walk in rooms and hear your voice
Not the kind I know by telephone
The other one, the one I listen when you speak
I grew without that too;
When you were here
How little you spoke
So many times I caught you
Brooding and silent in a cloud of smoke,
Your mind an ocean and decades away;
I touched your hand, an older version of my own
Manos de pianista,I remember you said
In your lap with my palm against yours,
Now our hands are closer in size
And I’m too big to sit in your lap.
Reasons become blurry with time
Momentos become discolored with age,
But there is one thing I remember still (…)

Here's some more... if only to purge it all out... :D

This is so weird... sitting here writing mini intros to my poems... It feels kinda cool, actually. I don't know, after so many years of writing stuff down and just keeping it in mental and physical harddrives, I feel a bit relieved... to finally put it "out there". There are still in me, I'm not as disconnected from my old work as I feared. Some of it is still raw, as raw as when it was first conceived, but some others, it's similar to wine or old parchments, the longer/older it gets the more tasteful, more precious.

Alright so, this next one. Oh, this next one's a bit... old. :D It's one of my first ones, and it's so peculiar that I still identify so much with it. It could be longer but so far it encompasses what it is about... I'll probably polish/lengthen it in the future, but for now... what do you think?

You & I (“Relentless”)

You never know when to leave
I never know how to turn you away,

I’ve tried to embrace you
But your embrace resembles winter
Sullen, sad and long
You always manage to surround me
In the nothing under my eyelids;
Your icy whisper warms my ear
The untiring reminder you are near
Inside my bed, by the window, behind a door;
Then there are times I see you in me-
In the lines of my palm, in the freckles of my cheeks.
We know only together how to be alone
You open my skin to summon my wounds
Only to make them your own

I would miss you only if you’d leave
I love you more if you never stayed long.

I know, I know what you all think... It is a bit... pre-mature perhaps, but- you should compare it w/ its first draft... LOL. Actually, don't. It's better this way...

Ok. So it's taken me forever. But as I promised myself- here it is, a little piece that got away from me :)

There's a piano next door that knows when I'm here

and its notes pounds on the floor

one last touch; meant to end

before the key is lift, but then

another note comes and the next and the next

so the night becomes score and its tempo

our breath,

There are no lyrics for us,

once a city of words

all buried between walls;

today we are more cartilage than bone,

we arch and turn but can we break

apart, away.

The lampost outside fakes the moon

light is aritificial but it's enough

to grace the rug, sidestep the chaise

to hide her eyes so I can believe

Her untruths and the secrets she wears

like tight rings they bruise, her promises like bracelets

clink hang and tease as

do the notes that from the piano sway

and it's useless to pull

back or away.

Always I wake up before her

leg over mine with the pain of my

arm bent to pillow; the aqua-moss bed drowned

for suspended minutes all sounds

and I start to ponder if walls

can they replay her voice.

I shouldn't have come.

Not last night. Or before.

I should've walked then

that piano, he never helps

it mourns for words we'll never say

so each night- each night I stay

when morning comes, I mourn again.