Cake Batter

No matter how many tears I cry,

or skin I rip or tear,

or apologies I mutter to no one,

nor song too sorrowful I sing

that puts you to sleep, 

will ever take that away.

You said no,

but I still said it first.

 

Closure’s a funny thing,

and I may never get it now.

I was to kiss you.

Tell you I miss the talks,

the long drive to nowhere,

the taste of Mandarin Oranges,

even the movies we’d never see.

And your skin,

dark caramel.

Sweet, rich and yet hard to chew.

And mine,

I was Cake Batter.

Pale, yearning,

and churned with bits of broken shell.

Yet all too easy to spoil in the sun.

~ by bleupoppy on November 7, 2008.