ANKICA ANCHIE

 

 

Shadow Of Silk

 

She dressed the night like a gown of silk,

transparent, dark, tightening around her ankles,

while her footsteps walked upon the silence

of pavements washed by September’s last rain

Beneath her eyelashes she carried secrets

that smelled of tobacco and honey,

of kisses lost between the clock hands

counting the hours of mistaken desires

The wind played upon her skin,

revealing traces of invisible hands,

cold like memories

she never learned to forget

In the mirror — a half-empty glass of red wine

and she, leaning over her own reflection,

trying to read between the lines of her wrinkles

how many times she loved at the wrong moment

And dawn always came unwanted,

jealously erasing the shadows from her lips,

while on the window remained the reflection

of unspoken words and sleepless dreams

Morning found her tired,

wrapped in the scent of smoke and past nights,

while her fingers still kept

the warmth of unfamiliar palms

The coffee was bitter,

as if all her unspoken answers were dipped into it,

all the thoughts that broke tonight

between reality and what might have been

On the window, light shattered against raindrops,

drawing furrows along the reflection of her face,

as if reminding her —

time waits for no one, not even those who love too late

She knew —

she never belonged to the morning,

her footsteps echoed in twilight,

in the pause between day and night,

in the silence that only shadows understand

And once again she would lose herself

among pages of books that smelled of the past,

among poems that kissed her more gently than people,

among gazes where she was never completely her own

For some are born to be someone’s longing,

someone’s unspoken words,

someone’s unfinished verses in poems

we never dare to complete…

 

ANKICA ANCHIE