Paper

You left too early,

yet we still share an unknown love

Did you say hello before I came?

Or pat my back as I went on my way?

Perhaps none of these things are true

 

All I know of you are tales

Your skin is paper

and your eyes are sunken black.

Skin, like paper, is what love is written on

Love is the ink that life is written from

I would hope for understanding

but that hope, too, is gone

 

There remains still a small desire

rather, a willingness

to want to know

or at least ask why

 

living, alive for a night

mostly all I found was paper

or dreamed of paper

paper skin

paper days

---

A short poem from June 2009 after a dream.

I was strumming the dobro last Halloween and came up with a song version, seen below. Can't remember how to play it, though.

---

I think the morning is when I feel most alone

I dread June for the memory

Press another day on and another night by

And the last one is how far away?

 

I met you once in a dream in a building

All of us were away and the world melts away

and the night melts away

and the morning rolls on by.

 

Your skin’s like paper

and your eyes are blackened bone

Love is the ink that life is written from

Skin, like paper, is what life’s written on.

 

I slept through morning and dreamed

you were here and knew me as one of your own.