purgatory

I shiver
when I think of your touch,
the way your hands,
slightly calloused, felt against
my skin.
Your embrace,
seeming to have no end.

I catch,
in my breath,
when I see a photo of you,
a slight smirk,
ever-present on your face.
You were always calm,
whatever the pace.

I swoon,
to light feet,
when I hear our song,
a melody,
a dance,
neither of us could
withstand.
A love that died
before all that we planned.

I laugh,
remembering,
early morning talks.
When your face was still
puffy with sleep,
When your breath was thick
with night,
but still sweet.
When your cold feet would
tickle me
and my whole being would be filled with glee.

I shout,
thinking of all the things
un...
done,

un...
said.

un...
lived.

Like some one-thousand lives,
that can never be recaptured,
lest nurtured.
I cry with the weight
of all the mourning
I have ever known,
And, still
I am here.
Relishing, shired and undone.

I confuse,
nostalgia with memory,
the face of the way,
I'd always hoped things would be,
with what was reality.
Never recalling,
that
you could be mean,
I could be treacherous,
you could be violent.
I could be elitist.
We could be
all the good and
all the bad things.

I grieve,
the end of some/thing,
I never did need,
but, wanted so badly,
no warnings, could I heed.
A moth drawn to a flame,
for no reason.
Never realizing this
was no life/long tangle,
but,
simply a season.

I wallow,
at night,
with the ghosts
of your touch.
Not being able to put out
my flame for you.
No ending,
in sight,
Not willing to give up this fight.


Jason Christopher Johnson
September 8, 2014