These Walls Bleed Memories

O', if your heart could beat, 
even if not for me! 

Every sunrise is something of  a memory 
of what we once shared. 
You and I, in bed, naked, and in love, 
was once a beautiful feeling. 
We could touch, and we could kiss, 
we could talk late into the rising day, 
we could take everything else 
a step at a time, 
you and I, side by side. 
We could live, laugh, and love life. 
We could be free, we could be happy, 
close, and happy about it, 
and grateful for every moment 
that bound our hearts together. 

Every sunset is something of a melancholy, 
and some feeling of incompleteness, 
in the very eyes of pure beauty; 
some longing—something of a saudade. 
You and I, glued at the horizon, 
dreaming, wishing, desiring, and, O’, 
loving the quiet, the peace, the sunset, 
was once where the beauty rose, 
and once much to look forward to. 
We could speak little about forever, 
and speak much 
in the language of the hearts. 
We could make love, 
in the rise of the dark, 
we could come out late in the night 
look up, make more dreams, 
and lose ourselves in the awe 
of the twinkles, and the dark, 
and the clouds, in the moon's glow. 
We could speak of love, 
night after night, until the night 
when we would give thought 
to beginnings in endings. 

I touch my walls and remember. 
O', how my walls haunt me!  
with memories, with secrets, 
with flashes of what can never be. 
Such nights, I keep your note close, 
I wish your heart could beat, 
even if not for me. 

©Benie_Langat_2021. 

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