Auld Lang Syne

 

I no longer remember the scent

of your hair, or the shampoo

you used to be more exact. The feel

of your lips seems like a dream

that I woke up from long ago.

 

I look forward to new smells

and new kisses and most importantly,

new dreams to keep me up at night,

eyes close, lying on my back,

on a bed that seems less lonely.

 

But for the moment, I can smell

only air and feel only the lukewarm

piece of plastic I’m writing with

and my dreams consists of longings,

only longings, that vanish when touched.