Futurepresent by Josha Skye

 

The Rooms

 

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September 07, 2001

 

 

Futurepresent

 

And the timbre of your voice,

I do not feel rebuffed.

I despised it when you froze

the fire that ignites my soul

finally doing me in.

 

And the flick of your wrist,

I do not see discarded ashes.

Crushed cigarettes in the ashtray

your lipstick still kissing them

makes me envious for your lips.

  

Comments please: josha_skye@yahoo.com 

 

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