Time's Tentacles

Time died in this place

trying to find a home far away from home that bore the fragrance of sunflower kisses.

A penchant for nostalgia fluttered

midst the crevices where periwinkles bloomed and the sourdough of memories sprouted.

 Reminisce flipped through the pages of my heart

and spoke to the cerulean bosom in metaphorical sighs.

Wearing clouds on my eyelids

I looked for the effaced graffiti on unfinished pages.

An archipelago of memories laid ahead.

Peppered by the rose-colored islands that had witnessed the sunsets of our childhood.

    The orange horizon's serenade in the cold

and the fragrance of Komorebi on winter noon.

Days of la dolce vita plummeted the spiral staircase of the cavernous house whose inhabitants had long been decimated by time's grinding wheels.

The coffee stains on the table calendar,

the unused kettle in the sink where the cassoulet of

remembrance brewed

muttered unfinished tales of love, loss and changing times.

This place was once a happy home now churned the bricks of loneliness.

My happy place is now a kryptonite

that makes my head dizzy with the migraine of grief.

The good old days rush like a forest fire and burn through my veins.

I now belong to the ranks of the doomed, constantly fighting the battle called life.