Old Love Notes Found in a Corner

"He had Bukowski on his beside table, along with an ivory dragon and a small Buddhist book, locked with beads. He shows me his work, comics first, shaded skulls and shapely older women after. I think of running my hand through those curls. I think of telling him how nervous I had been to grab his hand and how I wonder if we have done it since. I could watch him do nothing forever. In sleep, I hate him, dream up his demise but when I wake I can't remember what I might have really said. The few small moments still, rub off in light, not words. I cannot pronounce them anyways. And when he said that he doesn't know what love is, I should have moved! I lay there, paralyzed with his words, were they really making any sense or just stagnant phrases linked by misunderstandings? I should have kissed him then and shut us both up. Oh well, no regrets, I guess I'll see him soon. That priceless face, when he first saw me! I can focus on those moments and let his demons live separately beneath."