Promise

 Promise

 
 
Promised myself to write a letter
 
with shaking, turning hands
 
and tobacco stained fingers
 
 
My lips and words, stumbled over themselves
 
while you bit yours, no words fell out
 
Shades of black and blue
 
mottled your china-white neck
 
a conversation not worth having
 
 
You said you liked to lie in your bed, your nest
 
You left the house about once a  month
 
Barely there, rush and rapid fading
 
 
i liked to imagine our hands could melt into each other
 
we would be still while delicate rain could dance
 
a performance for our staring eyes
 
 
i was fainting, falling, forgotten
 
 
i still see shades of green and blue
in the eyes i never really knew
Hazel Bergeron-Stokes