For a Moment

I loved you for a moment

or maybe an hour

or a day. 

No need to apologize

profusely

for an hour

or days more than.

I,

twisted,

tilted.

Am I?

for loving you?

Today,

the chilly spring breeze blew right on the spot of my neck where you used to rest your lips.

And so I thought of softness, tenderness,

the incomprehensible kind,

the one a child never knew.

You’re there

there there

right there

in that tenderness.

And I’m leaving again, and again, and again.

It has been left unstained,

for once.

But twice and thrice

blotched.

It’s not stained

but they will make it so,

if they ever get their hands on it,

if the spit from their murmurs ever touches it.  

Stained,

with their sheepish ideologies,

costumed and trained politics.

if, hands, spit, on

on what is now only a memory,

a flicker of a moment,

an hour,

a day.

A slight pang,

an ice pick headache,

but only sometimes.

Yes, I’ll know it’s you.

The sun kissing my shoulders,

adorned in warmth,

only always.

Yes, I’ll know it’s you.

Right there.