May-hem

"May in Ayemenem is a hot,
Brooding month."
Have you heard it somewhere?
Read it perhaps?
May everywhere, is the same,
The same stifle.

I knew myself well,
Ageing well,
Writing letters, reading none.
No stamps stamped,
No papers breathed.
I loved you still.

But May is a month to brood,
And blow some disgust,
Into the face of life.
Language wore out,
Like earphones
And earrings,
Over-worn.

We went together,
Hand in hand,
Small little things,
Their loving Gods,
And I.

When May is done,
I will return
To the undone.
I shall love again,
Love twice.
Letters will be written,
And kisses stolen,
And the mist on my glasses,
Will smile over life.

The earrings will shine,
And the earphones will sing
Newer songs fine.
And next year,
May be,
May will be a passer-by,
And watch brooding die...