Autobiographies
When the last drop of sun
crossed your weary eyes,
I held back emotions and needs.
Just to watch you,
even for just a moment.
So I talk to myself,
when the weather is just right.
Sun or moon low,
against buildings. The cars,
drive blindly
through empty streets.
I talk about you and
sometimes us. And,
my cheeks flush.
I almost embarrass myself
but then: remembering those
empty streets and cars
filled with ghosts,
my eyes finally close.
And I can remember you for you.
And you, are truly gone.
