Prena Poetry

i looked at her from across a small coffee table.
nine whole minutes
and a thirty seconds more,
as she walked out of the door

i am sure she did not even see me.
why would she?
the cup infront of me was empty
my shirt was ordinarily black
and i was reeking of gin and rum
from the night before.
i know for one thing
i don’t remember much about
my slow monochromatic life.
i don’t remember
the name of the books i read
or the names of the people at work.
i don’t remember
how my mother felt like
or what i dreamt of as a boy.

but i remember her.
of all the woman i met
who dearly asked me
to remember their names.
i only remember her
the girl at the coffee store.
she didn’t remind me of those
sunsets in santorini.
she didn’t feel like dasies blooming
or waves of the bluest ocean.

i saw her
and i saw her mind.
i only thought of
how terrible it must be
inside that beautiful clump of art.
i remember
she felt like
all chaos of the world
colliding into magnificence.

every particle that entangled and bursted
to create the time where
i watched her form across the time .

pitch dark, wrecking, sinful yet so righteous.

i will always remember her