Whispers To The Oblivion ...

Black is not a color Black is the awry trajectory to home every night, the hues of cut-throat emotions at 3 a.m. No, not the little dress you wore at the 18th birthday party Black is tearing down the walls howling and crying afterward because the bullies are your friends. Black is the corners you sit and slit you bleed from everywhere and the smell of a sweet release. Black is the reverberating voice of a bygone lover that don't let you sleep. Of days you live in a crowd and yet feel so hauntingly alone Black is not a color Black is the absence of any color.

This moment of love, deafeningly silent between our lips The rift of our beds, merging with the bridge of your body. You, in excruciating pain as I apologize midway between a logical exchange You, in cut throat emotions shedding down rivers and then snuggling closer onto my lap touching the moment with quivering lips and gawky fingers A moment of melancholy Your heavy breath on my skin speaking volumes as you keep numb Jitters me off thoughts, the howling of curfew signals Shutters closing outside and then the closing of your eyelids A moment of overwhelm Another tear, you couldn’t hold in as coffee cups lay aside in dismay I blinked and it passed. A moment of pity. A moment of relief A moment of you You forgive me. It took you only a moment? Only a moment of love.