Day#9 of IntrotoPoetry
I think of your room sometimes
The penthouse on the fourth floor.
I loved the balcony and the huge windows
You always covered them up though.
I liked the darkness also, and the lamp light
That threw shadows all around the room, and your face.
It was a kind room. Especially on that evening we lay
My hands tracing lines on your wall and pulling at your poster
You talking on and on. I listened, feeling happy
That we were friends. That we could talk, again.
Now when I think of you, I think of your room
And imagine you to be kind, like the soft lights
That kissed both of us, as we lay in a world of our own.