Graveyard of Old Memories

I keep digging deep
In the graveyard
Of old memories.
No tombstone, no name
No dates necessary.
Daturas and nightshades
Hovering over your remains –
Marking where you lay,
On your final resting place.

My shovel hits the coffin –
Wood once varnished with my tears,
Now rotting and crumbling.
There, I buried your smile;
There, I hid the tune of your giggle
And the smell of your neck.
In the curl of your hair
I see worms of time –
Small and humble gods
Of forgetfulness and void.

In your dimple I see
A small sprout of mushroom :
Spreading its divine spores,
To the pores of your skin
That once used to turn red
As you blushed from my touch.
Now, the only red that remains
Are tulips of tomorrow,
Fed from the remains
Of yesterday’s melancholy…