< Issue 5 >
Forgotten
by Deonte Osayande
My first kiss with Melanie was soaked
in the smell of something I couldn't recognize.
We held each other for a long time.
Our lips were a connected drawbridge in this moment.
Over time this pathway across the water would be lifted
and returned back together constantly. It would never lose
that hint of wet aroma that was there from the beginning.
One day she decided to shove, shout, push things over the edge.
This was the time I met a bridge that needed to be burned.
Things were collapsing around us, and here she was,
the beautiful architect of our love's protest.
This dictator of both of our affections caused everything to shake.
I couldn't take it anymore, and there had to be an uprising.
She brought noise and hunger. I brought fire and despair.
We were Egypt and neither one of us were swept away in fear.
Drowning in the quiet tsunami of our arguments
cleansed us from our vanishing foundation of dirt.
She was Indonesia, I was Haiti. Both submerged
under the crushing fall of our ability to care for one another
where others had failed us both. Now we both stand here
forgotten by the masses, and without communication to each other
dealing with the pieces beyond repair, or floating off into the distance.
Forgotten
by Deonte Osayande
My first kiss with Melanie was soaked
in the smell of something I couldn't recognize.
We held each other for a long time.
Our lips were a connected drawbridge in this moment.
Over time this pathway across the water would be lifted
and returned back together constantly. It would never lose
that hint of wet aroma that was there from the beginning.
One day she decided to shove, shout, push things over the edge.
This was the time I met a bridge that needed to be burned.
Things were collapsing around us, and here she was,
the beautiful architect of our love's protest.
This dictator of both of our affections caused everything to shake.
I couldn't take it anymore, and there had to be an uprising.
She brought noise and hunger. I brought fire and despair.
We were Egypt and neither one of us were swept away in fear.
Drowning in the quiet tsunami of our arguments
cleansed us from our vanishing foundation of dirt.
She was Indonesia, I was Haiti. Both submerged
under the crushing fall of our ability to care for one another
where others had failed us both. Now we both stand here
forgotten by the masses, and without communication to each other
dealing with the pieces beyond repair, or floating off into the distance.
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