It so happened that,
that evening was
like your full lips in bloom,
(I have written about your lips elsewhere)
and yet cannot recall them anymore
or even the evening when those lips were so.
There is now only your nothingness
that likes to hang around with me
and so we would walk cozily together
in easy camaraderie
into an evening
that is so very mindless
of all those holidays spent with you
like prayers in rains
and lovemaking.
We can, now, only look back, your lips
and I, in rage
and rage that
that are but grey eyeless men twitching
in envy
while the skies
and the seasons
may well recall your pouting lips
that were so nearly
once or twice in bloom