On a bench, staring at dripping stars—
Remember that night we sat,
Cold thoughts and apprehension
Swirling about us,
Like our breath exiting our bodies?
The sound of water hitting the pavement,
Pattering on the fallen leaves
Of another autumn of gushing red,
And each drop was my own
Destruction rippling from Your
Watery distinction.
I remember before my wasteland
Had been cultivated by You,
Just mere minutes before,
I looked at You with soft appraisal—
Would kissing Her be appropriate?
It seems my own question was answered
By Your fleeing,
Your fleeting,
Once again,
Into ebbing stars.
What you did for me,
On that night of dripping stars…
Fluid transgressions seeping
With melancholy lament,
Pale and lush with rotted
Reminders of the past—
I could squeeze
The situation and flood
This entire world
For all to see.
And what would You do?
Would You drown as I have?
Before everything runs out,
Before time evaporates,
I need to breech the surface.
I swear these days are not just the clock passing,
But held objects.
Some I want to drop,
Some are clumsy in my hand,
But nonetheless,
They are present things to be enjoyed and shared.
I know now that You,
Have become a you,
And I drift away,
A salvaged person of riptides.
Complacent,
I drip, like stars,
Softly on your gentle ears.
Poetry by: Jake Buffy
Dripping Night
