Your memories are round
When your gifted tiny globe on my
desk
Spins between my restless fingers
Your lip prints on it
Like the conqueror's flag
Mark your conquest over my world
I see through rectangular windows of
my home
I reach out to my wasted lawn
Where flowers still smell of your
unnatural presence
The sphere moves in my eyes
I look at the lonely moon every night
Waxing, waning, hiding, rising
Like the tides of your love inside me
The flatness of roads
Create an illusion of destination
I keep walking the long unending
paths
Those no longer reaching you
However hard I travel them all
Huge minarets taunt me
With their sharp edged arms
Pointing heavenwards
I look at those ancient monuments
Ruined, deserted, fallen, neglected
Stuck in the history of time like me
But quite often, my love
Your memories are
Irregular
Chaotic
I look into the broken mirrors of
your eyes
I see myself scattered all over your
face
