The past came back to haunt me
in that cliched way it sometimes does:
in the form of a note from a stranger
notifying me of the death
of someone I thought
I’d killed off long ago.
But you never can, really.
The love I had for him
is trapped in an airless
bottle of time, the note
simply uncorked it
and there it was,
bright as new pain,
the scent of his skin.
The stains of my decisions
are timeless, it seems.
A rare opportunity to experience poetry distilled from a personal narrative I have read. Enlightening, the contrasts between your points of focus and mine.