Canvas

How many days have passed
since our sticky fingertips
brushed carelessly
in the midst of humid Summer freedom.
Strangling heat threw shards of light
at our burning skin
forced us to become
recluses of the shade
of the damp sand patches
hands cooled by dripping water bottles.
Thoughts are quiet,
the internal ramble of inconsistency
the loud inutterances worn out tired musings
do not reach you.
You in my mind are sitting there
between your “don’t know” shrugs
following azure eyes
saying only what you think necessary
leaving out all the social fluff.
I have now stretched all sides
of my canvas of memory
added lumpy paint in the
yellow of sunny days
pink in the shade of my lipstick
green in the invisible meadows
we have not walked among flowers,
among trees blaring their rhythmic rustle to the wind
we have not told our story among their leaves
we have not been as free as my painting
nor as together as the closeness
I feel in each day of unyielding
remembrance of you.
We, darling, have never been.

April 2008