I have forgotten her impish laugh,
the lines on her lips, the way they emaciated
when autumn fell, her red flamboyant scarf.
The effect of her presence, one moment enervated, another
invigorated.
I have forgotten her favorite line and writer,
“For you a thousand times over”, and Stephenie Meyer.
The tear shaped scar on the inside of her left wrist,
her fixation with the color pink.
I have forgotten her promises,
what we were and what we could have been.
Even if we were vigorous accomplices,
even if we were lovers too keen.
I have forgotten her smell.
The repugnant yet endearing odor
doesn't quite sit well
with me anymore, her clothes thus I tore.
I thought I had forgotten her completely,
Until I saw placed on my coffee table carelessly,
a princess cut diamond promise ring,
yelling at me the new beginning it posed to bring.
I have forgotten her, except I haven’t,
I fear the ring’s my passageway to a dingy cavern.
This would have been my last verse for her,
except, now I have discovered new words for her.
--
Nipun