I was not (Purposefully) ignoring you

… merely contemplating

Delacroix’s movement of colour.

That ‘Tree’, over to the left,

reminds me of the Grief

that elderly people keep to themselves.

I want an entire day without questions

… to breathe poetic music,

instead of spleen, out of my pores.

You’re lucky we can’t connect fully

… I’d destroy you with a gear-change,

before I’d even realised what I’d done.

We’ve lost the Red Telephone Boxes

… and the Urban Seagulls

have ‘Gang-Territoried’

the Sunday afternoon Park Duck Pond.

I can taste the word ‘Change’

… and it’s not like ‘old pennies’…

more uncomfortable like tiny ‘springs’.

Remember the last time we parted?

… the road got clumsy and heavier…

until the Rains of Fate

brought you back around into my Life.

© Paul Tristram 2026