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That We Don’t Rule The Night

you come back to me
in the scent of damp jeans,
with that other fragrance
I could never decide wasn’t perfume,

lingering for decades,
making my heart race.

I left on foot
for the last time,
drunken you in the arms of a friend,

- my gift -

out the side entrance,
down a drive
to a path
between fence
and shed

what paths are even possible that can take us
so far from secret selves and solemn vows?
“I was angry”
doesn’t seem adequate.

all these years later it still seems strange;
that I don’t hear you downstairs calling my name,
that I’m not rapping on your midnight window
whispering “come out!”

that we don’t rule the night.

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sumnerkagan sumnerkagan 46-50, M 1 Response Apr 26, 2012

Your Response


I adore this piece...
So much emotion,
Beautifully written.

Thank you. Your profile intrigues me, but I don't want to come across like a stalker so I've refrained from commenting more...

I would not view you as a stalker:)
You are welcome to view, comment or chat...whenever you wish.